now I, Anton, eldest and wisest,
I, nature-appointed leader by age and time,
I call this our first meeting to order
and each shall stand in silence as I read
out the rules and regulations
of this our BOYS ONLY order of OLD RUSSIA,
which I, as my first act as leader, shall name
the Anton Boys Only Group, the name obviously after myself…
And now, Artem stand still and stand at ease as Vladimir here is…
This pose with legs like a soldier's
and with hands at back, back in palm,
this is the way of the obedient follower
though I fear Artem may have a bit of Napoleon in him…
But Anton Boys Only Group we shall be
and in the streets we are destined to meet…
Now for the rules:
I am the leader and I’m always right;
you are the members of the group,
and you will always follow…
now, girls will not be allowed in this group
and no one is to come with any girls
here except me, with Galina once in a while
as she has recently been winking at me in class,
when I do attend class, that is,
and she has sent me notes
to meet her in the old shed past the fields
and once in a while, as I say,
she might be here on our way to said
location during which time
you will all keep guard
and remain as still as the Kremlin guards
or, as I’ve heard, the guards outside
****** England’s Buckingham palace.
Now, Viktor and Georgy, you are hereby fined five coins
for taking a casual attitude while I speak…
Artem, the tallest here after me,
you will be my bearer and cleaner
like carrying things I might have to carry
and dusting my coat before and after meetings
and for which I shall nominate you successor
should I run away with Galina to America…
We shall, however, always remain faithful to Mother Russia
and send you back information as and when necessary;
and also at each meeting, from hence,
each of you will bear gifts for the leader
(who, let me remind you, is myself)
like an apple, a tomato, eggs and sweets
and chicken pieces and such
as and when possible
but always at least one gift each
at each meeting as payment for the privilege
of my leadership;
and meetings will start promptly and be canceled as I wish;
and Vladimir and Bogdan and Andrey
you shall before each meeting, finish such field tasks
as my mother may have assigned me
and which I may then justly apportion to each one of you…
I do not anticipate any questions at this stage our first meeting
and so I announce this meeting over…
And Artem, you might want to dust the coat on my back…
but kindly do ensure your hands are clean first…

"Love" By: Anna Akhamtova

Любовь

То змейкой, свернувшись клубком,
У самого сердца колдует,
То целые дни голубком
На белом окошке воркует,

То в инее ярком блеснёт,
Почудится в дреме левкоя...
Но верно и тайно ведёт
От радости и от покоя.

Умеет так сладко рыдать
В молитве тоскующей скрипки,
И страшно её угадать
В ещё незнакомой улыбке.

(Translation)

Love

First, as a serpent, it’ll cast its spell
Next to your heart, curled up.
Then, it’ll come as a dove, as well,
Cooing for days, nonstop.

In the frost, it’ll show itself curtly,
Or in the drowsing field of carnations…
To escort you covertly and firmly
Away from all rest and elation.

In the prayer of a violin yearning,
So sweetly, it’ll sob for a while,
And how frightening it is to discern it
In a yet unfamiliar smile.

Translated by: Andrey Kneller

“over drowned summits.
Still white backdrop:
Scattered farms, spiked chapels,
dead ravines, dams motionless in blue steel.”

- Andrey Gritsman, “Last Day Of The Year”

There is no hill
Over by the way -
Rather, there is a
deep ravine that carves
Against the land and
Crushes, erases
In vigorous strokes
All who dare to
Stray too close
Over drowned summits.

As they fall and fall,
There is no forgiveness.
There is fear -
There is despair -
And then there is
The disappointing wash
Of pained acceptance
There is just one
Moment of pause, of
Still white backdrop.

The eyes roam over all
That there is to see
In a world that is soon to
Disappear; to fade into
Darkness and silence and
Whatever else awaits,
To take in the views
Of the living land
One last time -
Scattered farms, spiked chapels.

We travel deeper and deeper and
In the dark, there is a near-silence
That shocks to the core,
Moreso than even the loudest noises.
And finally, the grand finale,
The dull thump of a body
(No one hears it - does the tree really fall?)
And the padded footsteps of a reaper
Having come to claim it’s own - of
Dead ravines, dams motionless in blue steel.