Grigory Starikovsky
translated by the author, edited by Marisa Alvarez

in the evening they cut bristled grass,
my neighbor, his shirt untucked,
is bleating out his favorite, bensonhurst blues . . .
who dreamed you up, tattered tarpaulin
of your roadways, crumbling brooklyn?

yesterday’s mail, a picture with a view
of the bay with its islets, fishing rods
whistling, catch big and small,
brooklyn, your daughters are young,
swarming on the oceanfront.

trace of the stranger’s hand on my palm,
wipe it out for good so that i don’t know
where it’s from and where it leads,
into the body shops or into the
wheezing “d” train hung in the grey sky.

Grigory Starikovsky
translated by the author, edited by Marisa Alvarez

stared down by the red pupil
inside the white rim
pockmarks of stars
pulling and
wringing
rippling and rippling
a tree breathes behind them
throws and catches
spring’s dandruff
its dried-out mouth
bitter leaves
hurled into life
the tattered chill of blooming.

by Grigory Starikovsky
translated by the author, edited by Marisa Alvarez

trenched acres, copious crops,
a vigorous guard, his upturned nose,
saber-toothed memory is ablaze,
bayonet polished to shine.

may insects dash against the
windshield leaving yellow and
sticky trails, the rain will wipe it off,
even the dust we mourn.

candle-end, homebound flicker,
like a head bent to the side,
look at me, i’m a persian king,
i have my immortals too,
i will not tell you who they are.

by Sergej Timofejev
translated by Kevin M. F. Platt

Here’s the first photographic image
of a black hole.
In it one clearly sees
a black hole.
Millions rejoice,
discuss the event,
and circulate the photo
on social media.
White is white.
Black is black.
A hole is a hole.
That neighbor who smokes on the balcony
is a neighbor who smokes
on the balcony.
This text is now being read by you.
Yesterday was yesterday.
Let’s synchronize watches on that point
of determinacy.
Wave to one another in the window.
Exchange glances.
And move along.