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This piece is about 7 printed pages long. It is copyright © Polina Andrukovich and Christine A. Dunbar and Jacket magazine 2008. See our [»»] Copyright notice. The Internet address of this page is http://jacketmagazine.com/36/rus-andrukovich-trb-dunbar.shtml
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***
the salted knowledge
of the meanings of meanings
there, in hades, space sees
here space is deaf and blind
no ninths it aches no hos i want to go to hades to wo
rk and drink some water, which hears
here’s draft of space into itself
the water here
has begun to smell like fried meat
* * *
analyzed by the sun through you elect
ricity in late autumn from the harbor, not
to save later, it seems, debris and
from the brought from snow earth
the analyzed concentrates itself in you
concentrated autumn a knife for cans
snow rain knife of time of gaze
* * *
but the wind really just wanted to be
and I glanced around in fear
at this movement
of smoke left over from breathing
and the rhythm of breathing broke
on “here” and “there”
but the wind just wanted to be
and the wind was gentle to the smoke and the movement
of smoke, at which I glanced, was gentle
* * *
o the noise of your eyes?
when the noise of your eyes lies on me
in my hands i knead air
belonging to coitus
thank god there is no photograph
in which I am holding a bouquet
don’t you see, no wait, don’t you see, it’s
almost a haiku:
5—7-5:
thank-god-there-is-no
pho-to-graph-in-which-I-am
hold-ing-a-bou-quet
* * *
the structures of envy are cruel and rough
and insufficiently sharp
the structures of desire are sharp and fat
and this cries:
the slow countenance of materials decays and ti
me moves away from structures:
their contact with
time
q no wait would be a s
hort circuit
* * *
and i spread over the day’s air
and cover the stale answer with my hands:
carelessly repenting
careless repentance, the butterfly of someone’s soul
your soul’s
eavesdropping spirit
for me
you were my view from the window to
this fable
but the appearance of movements changed
in that i know
what i’ll put on then
and the day which does not have me
and the plastic of non-existence-here sharp
sufficiently
and i spread with a glance
and the butterfly through the glass
looks attentively
***
i awaited her phrase from the park
but did not cross the road
because there was no crosswalk
walks that didn’t have an end but
you could hear there couldn’t you too warm and
a drop of the second snow on the glasses
in that spot, where there’s usually a green
stat no wait star and apologies from god, who
‘ll pass on the phrase a little later
when a drop slowly vaporizes
on the glass, but what if by
some chance I reflexively forget and
rub it off
* * *
he broke the glass in the house with a view
of the sea
and on the next day he died here
a cigarette fell out of the pack
when darkness began
then the cassette ended
i didn’t go for medicine
don’t worry about it, i’ll go wednesday
i turned the tape over afteryourcall
Albinoni told the story of how once
when Paco de Lucia left
and in my hands remained
only the smell of smoke
* * *
copper flowed through glass at night
he’s sick with strings
i rock on the chair: the modem is being put in
the cat is asleep; what’s going on with her?
you could understand, but there is no
structure now
more and more often there is no structure, more and more often
you cannot remember I noticed more and more
there is no structure but about me falls
a word or snow?
yellow-orange nights
to drag your well-groomed face
to the clouds
at night
right by
the sun
***
not-god in flowers dries not-god
appear silhouettes of cancer; having dried out
of after-birth, not-god dressed as a falcon
swallows the dust of flowers; in him grow
hot prickly oranges and influ
ences with the anticipated taste the sup
ple taste of nothing,... required to cover
every square, prolonging the pleasure . . .
***
unknown sodium
forgotten cadmium
naïve, fluid empty
they pay me with dreams
to live with this cough
today
better to die from you,
than from something of yours
forgotten name of cadmium
to find your forgotten
in the scenario of black
nerves is simple
and now
the filled name of stone
add a lemon cynic
price list for tomorrow
a fuss in the backsight no wait
a fuss in the cross hairs
or tie a bow with thread
onto the window and
leave,
like yesterday, so as to know
what the next. song will be (. . .)
* * *
we walk in shadows concea
ling everything last
the last hands the last body
the last unkm no wait
the last unknown word
the last mistake in the last
unknown
anesthesia
co
nceals itself glance
the last
co
ceals itself
by substance of smoke
in a shadow and
you walk, imagining to yourself
imagining to yourself flowers that you’ve seen, and be
having to the forgotten
flowers like you behave to yourself be
ginning a conversation
from that
shadow of yours . . .
* * *
an exlcusive hell and what a pity
is this better or a bit annoying
or simply unpleasant
unpleasant is more logical
and illogical pity “is better”
fuss and voids
in an exclusive hell but
what about
those characteristic traits of yesterday?
* * *
the point of god is everywhere
god is there where there is the border
of god in a point
which is everywhere
and the lines between
gods
do not form the borders of the figure
which depends
on the light near
that cypress which didn’t exist
Polina Andrukovich
Polina Andrukovich (b. 1969) has a degree in animation from the Russia State Cinematography Institute. She has published poetry in Vozdukh, Novy Bereg, and Vavilon. Her book of poems One Voice Smaller was published in 2004.