Translated from Russian by Matvei Yankelevich


backwards time

1.

i lost my virginity in this building, says alice
freakish multi-colored walls of the ruin
stick out in all directions
on an orange wall—a bicycle
the excavator’s metal wrecking ball
slams into the wall with its pendulum swing
the bicycle drops

it seems:
alice is a hundred years old

those were my dropout days, alice continues
one of my friends was rolled, sent to the big house
another died in chechnya
we smoked dope in that doorway

actually:
alice is twenty

now everything’s gonna be alright, says alice
no more rifle assembly, i reply
and i’m gonna write music, she says
and we laugh
at the connect-the-dots of a burst of gunfire on the kiosk
at the jacks-of-all-trades on the arbat with their red army helmets at the bricks of faces
behind the glass of black jeeps
at the archeologists and the bones in the asphalt
from here on out, it’s a breeze
from here on out, it’s kickass

alice gets on her bike
rides down into the rib-caged hollow
under the apartment building
falls to the ground
in the shape of an embryo
gulps and swallows amniotic fluid
she’ll never be a mother
an ES-10 bulldozer
levels the ground
over the hollow

it seems:
the elevator’s dropping, i wake up

2.

in that story about alice
she ends up in wonderland
where the moscow river
glows like a slit on a dress
with the white legs of the moon tempts the passersby
entices with the magnet of a miracle

later—
time speeds up
in reverse


surgical scissors / paper airplanes

war’s
when the
surgeons
clamp fag-ends
in forceps
for a last drag
scrubbed hands
smell of rubber
bloodied sheets
on gurneys
cover faces
cold toes poke out
some with fresh pedicures
numbers on the tags

war’s surgical scissors
clip the wings
off paper airplanes
cut out the pilots


conclusion

as a child
spellbound by septic pumps
seduced by their workings
they drew me in

like death

conclusion:
a subject not likely to emigrate


white-blue-and-red pyramids

minutes after sex
he strangled his lover’s cat
in the bathroom
only then could he orgasm—
that’s how he told it

to me while
sitting on the floor
assembling a white-blue-and-red pyramid
for my child

he also told me—
during the war
he raped women
cumming where others
had come
together they jammed vaginas
with their emptied champagne bottles
their fake-leather army boots kicked stomachs
breaking glass into shards against intestines
virgins were shot:
it was too much—
to know a man
all the wonder of a man

a week later he came with roses
many many roses
said—i love you

that’s the first time
i felt the itch
to kill someone

in every white blue red
wheel of the pyramid

to kill someone
in the eyes of my child


anatomical theater

the course of study
included an operation
on a dog
after the operation
she patted the dog’s head
washed the instruments
thought—
what to do next
to save her
for instance
bringing meatballs from home
blood drained into the basin

a sudden dull knock
interrupted her thoughts—
with all his strength
the lab assistant
struck the dog’s head
against the tile floor

it’s a pain to look after—
he said

the little operating room
turned into an immense morgue
where everything dies
that i’ve saved from dying

in the evening
dressed for the theater
i gazed in the mirror admiring my new
dog head
until the curtain fell


Irina Kotova is a poet, prose writer, and essayist based in Moscow. She was born in the southern Russian city of Voronezh and holds degrees from the Voronezh State Medical Institute and from the Literary Institute in Moscow. She is the recipient of two literary awards and her work has appeared in many periodicals, including VozdukhNovy MirTextOnly, and NLO, and in four poetry collections. Her poems have been translated into Italian, Romanian, Greek, and Portuguese. A selection of her poems in English translation appear in This Is Us Losing Count: Eight Russian Poets (Two Lines Press, 2022).

Matvei Yankelevich is a poet, translator, and editor. His books include the poetry collections Some Worlds for Dr. Vogt (Black Square) and Dead Winter (Fonograf), as well as the translations Today I Wrote Nothing: The Selected Writings of Daniil Kharms (Overlook) and Alexander Vvedensky's An Invitation for Me to Think (NYRB Poets; with Eugene Ostashevsky), winner of the 2014 National Translation Award. He has received fellowships from the National Endowment for the Arts, the New York Foundation for the Arts, the National Endowment for Humanities, and Civitella Ranieri. In the 1990s, he co-founded Ugly Duckling Presse where he edited and designed books, periodicals, and ephemera for more than twenty years. As of 2022, he is editor of World Poetry Books, a nonprofit publisher of poetry in translation. He teaches translation and book arts at Columbia University's School of the Arts.