Dmitry Blizniuk, Forwarded City Municipal Services (Kharkov) Photo
***
обличчя плавали по поверхні озера як лілії,
їх було так багато, що здавалося можна перебігти
на інший берег реальності перестрибуючи з лоба
на підборіддя не ламаючи
обличчя.
обличчя
занурювалися під воду і знову з’являлися на поверхні як поплавці,
з жіночого красивого носика
текла струмінь червоної крові…
це марення, маячня наяву:
купа листя в широкій калюжі, чекаю,
коли загориться світлофор.
червоний… червоний… червоний…
і знову бачу озеро, обличчя як лілії,
і мені потрібно бігти на інший берег …
червоний… червоний… червоний…
***
(translated by Gari Light from Ukrainian)
faces floated on the lake’s surface as lilies,
there were so many of them, that it seemed possible to run
to the other shore of reality by jumping from a forehead
to a chin without breaking
a face.
Faces
lunged under the water
and reappeared on the surface as floats.
from a lovely nose a woman
flowed a stream of red blood …
such nonsense, a real delirium:
a bunch of fallen leaves inside a wide puddle, I wait
for a traffic light to change.
It’s red,,, and red, changing to red…
I once again see the lake, a face as lilies,
I must run to the other shore…
It’s red, and red,,, changing to red…
________________
Dmitry Blizniuk
Review by Ben Sloan
There is a raw, immediate, fresh texture to these pieces. They are elevated into poetry by first of all the authentic unpretentious let’s-cut-the-crap speaker’s voice and the mix of poignant experiences such as bringing the cat up to our face, how doing so is described as better than anxiety meds–I love the idea of “the meow moment.”
One moment seems to capture the entire Ukrainian will to survive this long-lasting war: how the mother goes into the bathroom to smoke a cigarette and she’s wearing a clean bathrobe so that if after a bomb blast her body has to be pulled out of the rubble, she at least will be (in her mind) respectable. Oh my gosh. A sign of ongoing hope is her plans to plant tomatoes next summer.