Poetry
Winter 2007
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From the Russian. to write of a city, my city, which is no more, of snow-covered squares tattooed in pigeon tracks, like on palms, to write of that, as […]
Poetry
Winter 2007
Untitled
From the Russian. A white Viennese chair sets against the sea and you—time fades in the landscape's evening waves. Sculpted cheekbones in profile and a child's sand-plastered shovel. When […]
Poetry
Winter 2007
Untitled
From the Russian. I. On the third day of spring a wind blows, snow turns black as an old chalkboard. Smoke curls out from pipes to the north floating […]
Poetry
Winter 2007
Untitled
From the Russian. How long have these roads weaved between darkening lakes. Sedges creaking along the way, and sturgeons splashing in the heavens. In the cossack village Birch Footbridge […]