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I’m Almost Okay (Ukraine)
Don’t worry, I’m almost okay.
They’re shooting but still far off.
Don’t see it as weakness. It’s hard
Taking care of the kids alone.
I look out the window—it’s dark,
Except for the glow of blasts,
As though I’m in a film
About the madness of war.
So every night I cry, and I sing.
It’s well past two in the morning.
You may be fighting right now,
I must wait for you out loud.
And it’s best not to look at the clock,
Now that it’s almost three,
So I’m not sucker-punched
By the ticker of news.
Now explosions are getting close,
The trouble is aimed at us.
Save us, repel the strike,
Don’t let us die in this hell.
I’ll go hug the kids while they sleep,
Touch their cheeks with my lips.
Not sure why I’m doing this.
Really, I’m not afraid!
Especially not when I think of you.
I think of you night and day.
I hope my incantations
Become a warship for you.
All right, seems it’s quiet again.
Don’t forget, crying’s not our style.
I’m strong. I’m strong like our country.
Don’t worry, I’m almost okay.
March 3, 2022
I Look at the News of Horror
I look at the news of horror.
I ask: “How are you holding up?”
“Like every normal person,
I lose my mind every day.”
The answer is clear and honest,
It’s the only one there can be.
You cannot close your eyes
On carnage and atrocity.
And sanity simply goes
And short-circuits your brain
When you’re seeing and hearing
The wax of the world melt down.
And all you can do, with no fuss,
Since the plague hasn’t taken you yet,
Is, like every normal person,
Lose your mind every day.
March 14, 2022
Shooting is Simpler
Shooting is simpler than cooking borscht:
Just pull the safety, the trigger.
Military might is a terrible thing,
It blows out the last plug in the brain.
Cooking borscht is creative,
While shooting is easy—just do it.
Pulling the trigger, the safety,
You won’t create, only ruin.
And no one will cook borscht for you
As you pull the safety, the trigger,
And the world falls apart, collapsing
Into fiery shades of red.
But it’s not the same color as beets.
Pulling the trigger, the safety,
You won’t get to a heavenly picnic,
Just the regular furnace of hell.
And if at the entrance, grinding the doors,
They ask you: “Last name, first name?”
Shout, at least, that you wanted borscht,
And lie that you had bad aim.
March 28, 2022
Boris Zverev was born and grew up in Moscow. He has lived in the United States since 1993. He lives in Boston and works as an economist. He has published two collections of poetry, and his poems have appeared in several journals.
Born in Moscow, Anton Yakovlev has lived in the United States since 1996, is a graduate of Harvard University and a former education director at Bowery Poetry Club. He is the author of four English-language poetry chapbooks. His poems have appeared in The New Yorker, The Hopkins Review, Poetry Daily, and elsewhere. The Last Poet of the Village, Anton’s book of translations of poetry by Sergei Yesenin, was published by Sensitive Skin Books in 2019.
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A collection of essays and reviews by Art Beck. “These pieces are selected from a steady series of essays and reviews I found myself publishing in the late aughts of the still early century.”
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In this collection, Andrey Kneller has woven together his own poems with his translations of one of the most recognized and celebrated contemporary Russian poets, Vera Pavlova.
