***
scattered, it was forgotten.
it melted
the answer from the senate.
sugar would . . .
and this—capsule-chariot—
of the tyrant.
but nothing to look at
even without relief . . .
where is viscosity of honey
from in patricians’ galleries?
what has made the apiaries and cohorts doubt?
he never found out.
it’s clear; there will be much labor over nectars, heavy honey of the newcomers . . . at the settlement in Sarmatia.
possibilities.
he will want—and then—from that—columns under the sky will support, hold roofs, cages—
heights.
floors, nets in cradles—
someone walks impatiently, he is a stranger . . .
ars amatoria, Publuis Ovidius Naso. a feather—so that . . .
to dip love fliers in joy, life teeming—stretch—a multibodied pen,
not into vermillion.
poured into a dish.
there—waiting—
in honeycombs. combs. combs.
frames. cassettes.
chase after someone. reach. be chased.
there—words—“to love, to give”—will be written
in towers. in rooms, in halls. on staircases, in vaults (transverse beams with birds’ nests).
someone is there.
to suffer a lot . . . honey of newcomers. honey of extraterrestrials. honey of settlers. honey of missionaries.
of honey . . . honey . . . to lose a lot. to thank . . . for painful conditions—conditioning . . .
oh fanciful stratagems—
oh stunning adorations . . .
***
toward the earth
and this
was revealed—
a debt up to the cover
to pay debts
up—to the cover—a tree
a candid
cone of security.
a box reaching the sky.
coating \
a box.
he will arrive
a biker. closer to the night
far ahead
there is
the tree
of his sky
he will
sing
to the tree
and will
cradle the tree
from under
a cloud.
will send clean stuff
to the tree
although in supermarkets and will send themselves to the cash register, it’s expected! and they only valued their own.
by everyone standing there—talking into—recruiting.
biker . . .
smoke from the motor
. . . on the back wheel of the harley around the seat leather cowboy fringe communicates shreds of twilight. careless manes of lightning, playful thunder, black membranes—
in silence . . .
with the night approaching the guy will go to the center of the sky to the tree. will start his motor, steer his handlebars-light . . . though it will be released—discharges
of chrono-micro-fountains of light-splashes leafy regal dances.
and a handful,
pinches of throws—luminescence—of wings—to the abandoned—will return. in the bitterest
will be stretched. and lost curvatures—will free their victims from tangled veils.
Two Poems
Yury Milorava
translated from the Russian by Anna Halberstadt
Listen to the poems read in the original Russian by the poet:
Yury Milorava and I began corresponding and exchanging poems after a mutual friend, who resides in Chicago, suggested we read each other’s poetry.
Yury’s writing stands out among contemporary poets writing in Russian in more than one way. He does not write in meter. His poetry reflects influences by Russian avant-garde poets such as Mayakovsky and Khlebnikov, but even more so of Gennady Aygi, an internationally known Russian modernist, his friend and teacher. Yury, who is fluent in French, German, and Georgian, is well acquainted with American, French, and German poetry, which he has translated into Russian. He is more interested in the unconscious, intuitive, visual and musical elements of poetry than in the formal.
The poem “[scattered, it was . . .]” is based on his “visual, spontaneous, irrational associations” around the content of poetry books written in antiquity. The poem deals with the fate of Ovid, who was persecuted by the Roman aristocracy and exiled from Rome to Sarmatia for his manuscript Ars Amatoria (The Art of Love). The poet muses on the fate of the poet in exile as “an outsider, a stranger, an extraterrestrial.”
“[toward the earth . . .” describes a tree, situated somewhere between the sky and the earth, symbolizing the spiritual connections of people to the heavenly forces of goodness and light. The biker is a romantic figure—a keeper of the tree that sends light-messages to people, freeing them from their dark and bitter fate.
Yury’s writing stands out among contemporary poets writing in Russian in more than one way. He does not write in meter. His poetry reflects influences by Russian avant-garde poets such as Mayakovsky and Khlebnikov, but even more so of Gennady Aygi, an internationally known Russian modernist, his friend and teacher. Yury, who is fluent in French, German, and Georgian, is well acquainted with American, French, and German poetry, which he has translated into Russian. He is more interested in the unconscious, intuitive, visual and musical elements of poetry than in the formal.
The poem “[scattered, it was . . .]” is based on his “visual, spontaneous, irrational associations” around the content of poetry books written in antiquity. The poem deals with the fate of Ovid, who was persecuted by the Roman aristocracy and exiled from Rome to Sarmatia for his manuscript Ars Amatoria (The Art of Love). The poet muses on the fate of the poet in exile as “an outsider, a stranger, an extraterrestrial.”
“[toward the earth . . .” describes a tree, situated somewhere between the sky and the earth, symbolizing the spiritual connections of people to the heavenly forces of goodness and light. The biker is a romantic figure—a keeper of the tree that sends light-messages to people, freeing them from their dark and bitter fate.
Yury Milorava was born in 1952 in Tbilisi, Georgia. He is a graduate of the Tbilisi Institute of Foreign Languages and has been publishing poetry in Russian since 1972. He is a member of the Russian PEN center and serves as the editor of the literary journal Children of Ra. In addition to three poetry collections, he has published literary criticism, essays, memoirs, and translations from the French, German, and Georgian. Milorava moved to Moscow in 1990 and again to Chicago in 2007, where he currently lives.
Anna Halberstadt grew up as the child of Holocaust survivors, living in three different countries (Lithuania, Russia, USA). She has published many works in the field of psychology but has found poetry to be a more adequate means of developing themes of trauma. Her poetry collection Vilnius Diary was published in the Mudfish Individual Poet Series (Box Turtle Press, 2014). Her creative work has been published in many American journals and translations of her poetry into Lithuanian have appeared in Literatūra Ir Menas, Metai, and Šiaurės Atėnai. Her poetry in Russian has been published in the anthology Nash Krym (KRiK, New York, 2014) and the journals Children of Ra and The Poets Journal. Her English translations of poets writing in Lithuanian and Russian have appeared in St. Petersburg Review, Quarterly West, Springhouse Journal, National Translation Month, and Axolotl. She is a member of the American PEN Center.
