A signal flare ignites—

Go to sleep, Okinawa.

Glory to the whales departing our shores.

The furnace spark of the signal flare

Warms the constellation of Kyokaikyu.

The enemy is at the gates,

Hope has gone overboard.

Who will find it first?

Heavenly matches,

Oh, starry fire box—

Sleep, Okinawa,

With a thousand fish eyes,

Music carved in the sand.

I remember Enza’s voice well, her scent, her eyes. But I remember little of Enza.

She told me all this in Chicago. Turns out, only to me.

A neighborhood where Latinos buy antibiotics under sanctions; she won’t go there.

She has two nephews in Venezuela, just in case something happens.

There’s also a pet store:

Aqua-mox forte, $28.99; Aqua-zole, $37.99; Aqua-Ceph, $24.99; Fish Biotic Ciprofloxacin, $27.99; Fish Biotic Ampicillin, $17.99.

Tennessee Williams stayed at this hotel. Or was it Orleans? I can’t recall.

Outside, a Catholic church and the road to the lake.

I hold her child; she holds mine. We feel quiet.

We seem unafraid.

In Caracas, people fall ill like fish and recover as human.

"Ground!" shout the soldiers of the empire. 

"Air!" shout the soldiers of the empire. 

"Ground!" shout the soldiers of the empire. 

"Air!" shout the soldiers of the empire. 

"Ground!" shout the soldiers of the empire. 

"Air!" shout the soldiers of the empire. 

"Ground!" shout the soldiers of the empire. 

"Air!" shout the soldiers of the empire. 

"Ground!" shout the soldiers of the empire. 

"Air!" shout the soldiers of the empire. 

Flags on our towers.

Grandfather picked up the cords to Brothers in Arms on the sanshin.

Children came running to listen, grew up, and killed him.

Pushed him off the cliff at night.

Everyone knew Grandfather never went out at night.

At night, he played the sanshin. He knew many things, was even considered a pillar.

He thought it was a radio station broadcasting rock ‘n’ roll.

And one day, just before he died, he said:

"This is how you defend your music, son!"

In old age, one often confuses grandchildren with children.

Father would not have liked that.

Corporal Felix O’Connor, left only with a trembling left hand,

Receiving a Congressional Medal of Honor, wondered

How much it would fetch on Amazon.

He wanted to keep thinking about Amazon, to distract himself,

But remembered how I launched light torpedoes in Sea Battle.

He vomited. Bits of something stuck to his cane.

The corporal struggled to get up on stage.

Half the hall guessed—chili?

The other half was absent.

Pshhh… Twenty torpedoes for fifteen cents.

Applause—three hits in a row.

A fresh hole in the uniform.

Half-blind whore.

As we ate rice, a grenade watched us from a woven basket.

It had green eyes.

"Never stick chopsticks in food," says Dad—bad manners.

Mom searches for the record—not that one, not this one.

Father stands in the middle of our only room,

And begins to tango with the grenade.

But the music! It’s blues. Oh, Lord—blues.

shudan jiketsu shudan jiketsu shudan jiketsu shudan jiketsu shudan jiketsu shudan jiketsu shudan jiketsu shudan jiketsushudan jiketsu shudan jiketsu shudan jiketsu shudan jiketsu shudan jiketsu shudan jiketsushudan jiketsu shudan jiketsushudan jiketsushudan jiketsushudan jiketsu shudan jiketsushudan jiketsushudan jiketsushudan jiketsu shudan jiketsu shudan jiketsu shudan jiketsushudan jiketsu shudan jiketsu shudan jiketsu shudan jiketsu shudan jiketsu shudan jiketsushudan jiketsu

Russia issued a vague statement in response to threats from the Ukrainian Ministry of Foreign Affairs, which vowed to prevent the return of Black Sea Fleet ships to Sevastopol after their mission off the coast of Abkhazia. Russian Deputy Foreign Minister Grigory Karasin reaffirmed that the Black Sea Fleet would remain in Crimea under the current agreement until 2017, dismissing Ukraine’s statements as cynical. The fleet’s ships sailed towards Abkhazia on Saturday, where they are enforcing a naval blockade of Georgia. The operation is personally led by the Black Sea Fleet commander aboard the cruiser Moskva. The Russian ships departed Sevastopol Bay without notifying the Ukrainian authorities, a move that provoked outrage in Kyiv. It is believed that the ships will return to Sevastopol without any notification, disregarding the uproar from Ukrainian Foreign Minister Ogryzko’s office

http://www.freetavrida.org/?p=2055.

We sailed into the bay today,

We sailed into the bay today,

We sailed into the bay today.

We stand with our mouths agape,

We stand with our mouths agape,

We stand with our mouths agape.

Mr. Fidzya teases the whale

Chicago through a tram window. 

A crab in Mr. Fidzya's cellophane bubble,

He will do better here, much better. 

The lake awaits on the other side of the traffic light. 

An automated voice announces: final stop. 

We disembark too.

The day will come, says Grandfather, when the man in me will die completely. 

Then, of course, I will become a woman, caring, wise, I already love her. 

Grandfather, when will that time pass too? 

Sleep, grandson, sleep, my Okinawa.

Translated by

Anton Platonov

graduated from the Translation Department of Saint Petersburg State University of Culture and Art, under the mentorship of translator and writer Vera Reznik. Participant in the 2015-2016 poetry workshops at the Open Literary School of Almaty. Translates contemporary prose from English, Spanish, and German, with a focus on researching and translating poetry, particularly beatnik poetry. Her translations and essays have been published in electronic editions such as Literratura, Esquire, syg.ma, and others. She is one of the founders of the "Illustrated Guide to the Meanings of Almaty" (alaguide.kz/en) and the founder and editor of Ariadna.media, a Kazakhstani media outlet focused on contemporary art. Additionally, she is a co-founder of the Laboratory of Literary Translation (supported by the U.S. Mission in Kazakhstan). He lives and works in Almaty.

Yuriy Serebriansky. Barysh*

https://www.thebilge.kz/e/action/ShowInfo.php?classid=33&id=3904