One Poem by Dmitry Blizniuk - (Translated by Sergey Gerasimov from Russian)

 

The Nest Full of Broken Eggshells 

 

Here it is, our former bus stop. 

It used to be a great place for crablike cuddles 

and long, icy kisses, really indecent ones. 

Now this looted sarcophagus is not inspiring. 

Now uninvited pharaohs drink beer here. 

Sitting on the bench, 

they wriggle with laughter, 

with ancient infantile obscenities, 

like innocent worms. 

Do you remember, my girl, how we slowly, self-forgetfully 

were getting soaked in the sunset -- 

golden mackerel in the unbounded aquarium. 

The pitchers shaped like juvenile bodies 

were getting filled with the carrot juice. 

And a slight shiver was felt in the neck, 

as if God had deigned to give us a pat behind the ears. It tickled. 

Now I’m looking at the sunset 

with a long, theatrical gaze full of burning triremes, 

tasting the glorious, velvety colour. God’s mulled wine. 

I get over it 

and start my search again, 

with a scratched iPad 

and a bird’s nest full of broken eggshells. 

 

 

(Translated by Sergey Gerasimov from Russian)

 

Dmitry Blizniuk is a poet from Ukraine. His most recent poems have appeared in Rattle, The Cincinnati Review, The Nation, Prairie Schooner, Plume, The London Magazine, Guernica,  Denver Quarterly,  Pleiades and many others.. A Pushcart Prize nominee, he is also the author of The Red Fоrest (Fowlpox Press, 2018). His poems have been awarded RHINO 2022  Translation Prize. He lives in Kharkov, Ukraine.

Dmitry Blizniuk   in the Poets & Writers Directory.
http://www.pw.org/directory/writers/dmitry_blizniuk