Archive for the ‘Память’ Category

SS Cap Arcona, 1945.05.03

They say you can’t escape a bullet with your name on it,

so as to speak: fate, destiny.

I agree, in the sense that there are forces beyond us,

powers and abilities,

machines, militaries.

And, when in bloodlust they pursue you, defying logic and decency,

there’s not much one can do.

 

(To be continued…)

       

©SvetkaSamizdat

 

 

 

 

 

Lena, Soldata (Gunner), Vesna 1945

He accused me of not paying attention,

of not being present, so as to speak.

Obviously, such sentiment depends upon definition.

And I, am thinking about something much greater, than this time and place …

 

(To be continued…)

       

©SvetkaSamizdat

 

 

 

 

 

Vostok Kota

Memories,

like the ghost of an oily cat,

rubbing itself against my window,

begging to be let in.

 

(To be continued…)

       

©SvetkaSamizdat

 

 

 

 

 

Grave Stones

Busy time for memories,

series of days, to commemorate,

life which was, gone too soon,

alas, for someone, as always.

 

(To be continued…)

       

©SvetkaSamizdat

 

 

 

 

 

Natalya Guseva

My visitor from the future,

alas,

has become a ghost from the past.

Men, women, systems,

self-interest, manipulations and power plays,

what chance does our idealism ever stand?

 

(To be continued…)

       

©SvetkaSamizdat

 

 

 

 

 

Yozef Mengele (Ru)

Mengele’s farm machinery,

outside decaying building,

I remember it sitting idle,

rusting into oblivion.

Like his shit-eating grin.

 

(To be continued…)

 

©SvetkaSamizdat

 

 

 

 

 

Wm in Ruins, Berlin, 1945_ Yevgeny Khaldei

I watch the downfall, and I cry …

Strange,

when surely I should rejoice

at the demise

of the one who made themselves my mortal enemy,

but in their hollow eyes, I see myself.

 

(To be continued…)

 

©SvetkaSamizdat

 

 

 

 

 

d0a0d0b5d0b4d0b5d180-d0aed0bbd0b8d183d181-d0a5d180d0b8d181d182d0b8d0b0d0bd_-d094d0b5d0b2d183d188d0bad0b0-d181-d186d0b2d0b5d182.jpg

My sinuses were blocked, my head sore.

Amongst the dizziness and fog…

I gradually remembered Ronald Reagan asking whether I believed in reincarnation, or not, and postulating that he, in a past life, may well have been the man who invented the shield (hubristic prick!).

I rubbed my forehead, grimaced, and, yes, there I was, amongst the Hittites, for a time, bloody and forgotten.

No… Please.

Indeed, I shook my head as it dawned, sunrise, another long day ahead, hiking and sailing on the Baltic coast. My fiancée looked so dashing, in 1910.

Exposed, I sweated, nonetheless.

19… 20.

Soon, the fever would break,

and reality, hopefully,

fade away.

(To be continued…)

 

©SvetkaSamizdat

 

 

 

 

 

Op Priboi Vagon

Somebody’s dream,

blissful, ethereal view.

Another’s nightmare,

living, solidly true.

(To be continued…)

 

©SvetkaSamizdat

 

 

 

 

 

2019-08-25_01-48-17

We were waiting (for Godot?),

so he asked me about myself,

specifically, my history.

“My history?

Well, it’s complicated and it’s dirty,

alas,

but isn’t everybody’s?”

(To be continued…)

 

©SvetkaSamizdat