if it ought to be said say it as it is
cloud waterdust
all that grows falls apart
grief is an adult craft
an unavoidable crookedness
as death comes endless
after all there’s nothing to be done
but watch
*
you lie like a toy soldier
with something silver sticking out of you
momma-momma careful
when you read those lists
either boxcar or submarine
or the throat of a ravenous wolf
depth
adopts a diver’s poise
inhales all the air down to the last drop
and launches like a bomb towards little old you
a real boy
becomes wooden
your last breath in the enemy’s face
the end of the plank I’m going to fall!
and you lie there like that in a cocoon
pierced by a mercury pin
momma momma open the window
I’m here
*
There will come times when yes and no . . .
Mikhail Gronas
wooden body
hard blunt thing
how old are you really
you open into rings
rings words words
doubling the years
a clean stream follows your feet as you walk
rushing from the hills beating beating
little bird wood-warbler chiff-chaff
cheep-cheep cheep-cheep
wassup? wassup?
rain worm
reversed man
mirror mirror
do you see me or no
what is it you express
time water water
a tree a tree yes
*
in the window of secret meaning
braided bright with rain
a silent clarity hovers breathing
resembling Chekhov’s gun
and is it just some random bird
hooked to the far horizon
all muffled up as is usual
in its greenish web of forest
and the air sweeps in yellow
its heart stuck to its sleeve
and there is something just on the tip
but things are just fine as is
*
in memory of V. B.
dead bird umbrella
dripping, says
life seems to be going on
or pretends it is
rain like iodine
burning wounds
dear stars, budge up
someone is flying to you
*
The words are a little dead,
is how Edik the Frenchman would put it
as we sat in the same office
To Edik, everything was a little:
a little fucked up, a little tired,
a little dying—oh this Russian vodka of yours
oh these nettles of yours the height of a man
oh this fir forest, cold and savage
helicopter mosquitos, beast-faced dragonflies
Anyway, Edik
is now entirely in Quebec.
And here the nettles sting for real.
*
a fish is a living thing of any age and gender
Svetlana Guseva
a sequence of steps:
1) pull the cord
2) push out the glass
3) break out from the aquarium into the open ocean
the wisdom of fish was noted by such explorers
as A. Platonov and E. Kusturica
having both of its eyes on one side a fish
sees what it wants
unsees what it wants
it is generally clear what kind of fish has walked ashore
so that we have what we have
a reverse sequence of steps:
1) walk into the sea with your feet
2) lie on the sand—hands behind your head—the ‘downward fish’ pose
3) wait until the two awkward logs turn back into a nice little tail
the voice is of no use anyway
*
the point is that water droplets
up in the air stray into clubs
poised to pounce you merely murmur
but I was only walking nothing special
like an Englishman in New York City
walking out of step singing a song
not word-for-word
nope, this one the camera can’t capture
at most, a fading outline and even then
forced to forget the Motherland
and spend what’s left on scallions
out a babushka’s lilac bag
Eight Poems
Eugenia Ouliankina
translated from the Russian by Ivan Alekseev and James Bradley
Listen to an excerpt of the original Russian read by the poet:
Eugenia Ouliankina is a poet of short but extremely condensed breath. Her texts function on different levels of aesthetic message, creatively using onomatopoeia, modifying (or even inventing) idioms, working with the prosodic associations of Russian metrical schemes, and cross-breeding various registers and dictions (archaic, slang, child-like expressions, etc.). When combined with a significant absence of punctuation markers, such writing achieves a heavily paratactical effect. Further, the first-person pronoun is almost entirely absent, resulting in a dispersed voice.
As a result, translation presents multiple difficulties. We conducted ours through a ternary correspondence. Ivan Alekseev provided initial English translations, and James Bradley worked on refining these in terms of syntax, rhythm and tone/register. Uncertainties on onomatopoeia, idiom, italicisation and punctuation were referred to Eugenia Ouliankina for clarification.
We aimed to recreate crucial “formal” poetic devices (as with paralleling the progression of initial “ч” to “w” sound) and to maximise actualization of double-references or puns as far as possible (e.g. “camera” as “prison cell” in Russian). Where possible, we didn’t specify the speaking subject. An effort was made to salvage particular prosodic effects, such as counterpoint, as well as certain instances of parataxis. In most cases, original rhyming and metrical schemes were sacrificed in favor of these transformations. What we hope to have carried over from the original poems is their onomatopoeic inventiveness and their variegated tissue of tone, register and image.
As a result, translation presents multiple difficulties. We conducted ours through a ternary correspondence. Ivan Alekseev provided initial English translations, and James Bradley worked on refining these in terms of syntax, rhythm and tone/register. Uncertainties on onomatopoeia, idiom, italicisation and punctuation were referred to Eugenia Ouliankina for clarification.
We aimed to recreate crucial “formal” poetic devices (as with paralleling the progression of initial “ч” to “w” sound) and to maximise actualization of double-references or puns as far as possible (e.g. “camera” as “prison cell” in Russian). Where possible, we didn’t specify the speaking subject. An effort was made to salvage particular prosodic effects, such as counterpoint, as well as certain instances of parataxis. In most cases, original rhyming and metrical schemes were sacrificed in favor of these transformations. What we hope to have carried over from the original poems is their onomatopoeic inventiveness and their variegated tissue of tone, register and image.
Eugenia Ouliankina was born in 1992 in Karaganda (Kazakhstan) and now lives in Moscow. She is the author of the poetry collection Like a Living Thing (Как живое; Voymega, 2020), which won the Moscow Count Prize for best debut book in 2021. In 2020, she was honoured with The Lyceum Award for young poets. Her poems have been published in magazines including Piroskaf, Kvarta, Literratura. Her poetry has been translated into Greek and Chinese. This is her first publication in English.
Ivan Alekseev is a Russian-born poetry translator who primarily operates between Russian, Chinese and English. His published translations of Chinese works into Russian include Внутри пламени: поэзия Хай Цзы (Inside the Flames: Poetry by Hai Zi; Петербургское востоковедение, 2021) and Си Чуань. Со мной в главной роли (Starring: Me. Selected Poetry by Xi Chuan; Prosodia, 2024). Alekseev’s solo and collaborative work has appeared in journals such as Inostrannaya Literatura, Perevod and Jintian, among many other media. He currently lives in Chengdu, China.
James Bradley is a poet from the west of Scotland. His work has been published in Poetry Ireland Review, The North, Gutter and elsewhere. He was longlisted in The Poetry Society’s National Poetry Competition in 2023 and shortlisted for the 2025 Wigtown International Prize. He lives and works in Beijing, China.
