Julia Nemirovskya

Boris Dralyuk is a literary translator and the Executive Editor of the Los Angeles Review of Books. He is co-editor (with Robert Chandler and Irina Mashinski) of The Penguin Book of Russian Poetry, editor of 1917: Stories and Poems from the Russian Revolution and Ten Poems from Russia, and translator of Isaac Babel, Mikhail Zoshchenko, and other authors. His poems have appeared in The New Criterion, The Yale Review, Jewish Quarterly, and elsewhere.
Bio: Julia Nemirovskaya is a Moscow author and literary critic. She graduated from Moscow State University (1987; PhD, 1991) and teaches culture and theater at the University of Oregon. In 1980s, she participated in the "new wave" underground group of poets and Kirill Kovaldzhi literary seminar. She published several books of poetry and prose (with Vodolei) and a study of Russian cultural idioms (with McGraw Hill). Her poems and stories have appeared in Znamya, Vozdukh,Okno, Novyi Bereg,Two Lines, Asymptote, Candlestick Press Poetry Pamphletes, Exchanges, Washington Square Review, etc. and are translated into English, French and Bulgarian.

Apocalypse (a poem in five parts)

White (Plague)

Eyes clouded over
Mouth firmly covered
Though gloves I caress
Sweet emptiness


Red (War)

Upon scorched earth
a hand soaked in blood
I searched for a left
but a right turned up


Black (Hunger)

Granny Liza is bloated
her legs all puce
In the oven are burdock
and shoots of spruce
Condensed milk in the sideboard
neath a robe
out of view
Lean year ahead
girls
but you'll pull through


Pale (Death)

The moon makes them swoon
they treat it so nice
though she and I both
are missing our eyes


Light (Woman clothed in the Sun)

Terrible
dream
judgment
holiday

Old men
drinking
air

Colder and colder
take my coat
you are bare

Few
deaths
fit
up there

All
is filled
with light (Translated by Boris Dralyuk) Юлия Немировская

Апокалипсис


Белый (Чума)

Очи мои матовы
Уста запечатаны
Я ласкаю сладкую
Пустоту перчатками


Огненный (Война)

Земля горелая
рука кровавая
Искала левую
попалась правая


Вороной (Голод)

Баба Лиза опухла
ноги багровые
В пещь солодку лопух и
побеги еловые
Есть ещё
в комоде
под халатом сгущёнка
Будет год
голодный
не помрёте девчонки


Блед (Смерть)

От луны прямо млеют
к ней ласково к ней на ты
хоть у нас у обеих
глазки повыколоты

Свет (жена, облечённая в солнце)

Страшный
сон
суд
отпуск

Старики
пьют
воздух

Похолодало
одень
ты не одета

Вверху
смертей
помещается
мало

Всё
занято
светом

Fork and Spoon

My fork and my spoon, like mama and papa,
for the millionth time look up and stare,
while the mouths of my slippers gape open
and dawn gives the bedsheets a scare.
Get up, go to sleep, get up… I’m so used to
these ways — it’s a shame to flee
to where, I was told, every day is a feast day
and the trains all rush to the sea. (Translated by Boris Dralyuk)

*

Вилка и ложка

И вилка и ложка, как мама с папой
В мильонный раз глядят на меня
И рот открывает разиня тапок
И света пугается простыня —
Встаю, и ложусь, и встаю: привыкла
Настолько, что жаль уходить туда,
Где, мне говорили, всегда каникулы,
И мчатся к морю все поезда.

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