TATI’S TRANSLATIONS // Axis by Alice Munro (Excerpt)

Avie waited until they were comfortable to tell Grace about her dream.

“You must never tell anybody,” she said.

In the dream, she was married to Hugo, who really was hanging around as if he hoped to marry her, and she had a baby, who cried day and night. It howled, in fact, till she thought she would go crazy. At last she picked up this baby—picked her up, there never was any doubt that it was a girl—and took her down to some dark basement room and shut her in there, where the thick walls insured that she wouldn’t be heard. Then she went away and forgot about her. And it turned out that she had another girl baby anyway, one who was easy and delightful and grew up without any problems.

But one day this grown daughter spoke to her mother about her sister hidden in the basement. It turned out that she had known about her all along—the poor warped and discarded one had told her everything—and there was nothing to be done now. “Nothing to be done,” this lovely, kind girl said. The abandoned daughter knew no way of life but the one she had and, anyway, she did not cry anymore; she was used to it.

“That’s an awful dream,” Grace said. “Do you hate children?”

“Not unreasonably,” Avie said.

“What would Freud say? Never mind that, what would Hugo say? Have you told him?”

“Good God, no.”

“It’s probably not as bad as it seems. You’re probably just worried again about being pregnant.”

Эви подождала, пока они устроятся на сиденьях, и начала рассказывать Грейс свой сон.

«Только никому не разболтай», – предупредила она.

Во сне она была замужем за Хьюго – парень действительно не давал ей проходу в надежде, что Эви согласится стать его женой, – и у неё был грудной ребёнок, который плакал день и ночь. Вернее, орал благим матом, доводя её до белого каления. В конце концов она взяла младенца – это совершенно точно была девочка, – и снесла в тёмную подвальную комнату с толстыми стенами. Она заперла дочку там, чтобы не слышать её бесконечного плача. И ушла, позабыв о ней. А потом оказалось, что у неё есть ещё одна малышка, спокойная и милая, которая выросла, не доставляя родителям никаких хлопот.

Но однажды уже повзрослевшая дочь заговорила с матерью о своей сестре, спрятанной в подвале. Оказалось, что она знала о ней с самого начала – сломленная и позабытая всеми затворница рассказала своей сестре всё, – но теперь с этим ничего уж не поделать. «Ничего уж не поделать», – кротко повторила любимая дочь, отрада и утешение матери. Всё равно, её покинутая сестра ничего не знала о жизни снаружи, она больше не плакала и давно смирилась со своей участью.

«Какой ужасный сон», – сказала Грейс. «Ты что, ненавидишь детей?»

«Не без причины», – ответила Эви.

«Что бы на это сказал Фрейд? Ладно, это неважно, но вот что бы сказал твой Хьюго? Ты ему рассказывала?»

«Боже, нет».

«Возможно, всё не так плохо, как кажется. Наверное, ты просто опять переживаешь, что забеременела».

Original story by ALICE MUNRO
Translation by TETIANA ALEKSINA

© All rights reserved 2011

MMORPB // Tati & Tony in Raiders of the Lost Snark Part Nine (Moderately Multiplayer Online Role Playing Book 18+)

or: EPISODE 9 // Where Tati Battles Demonic Barbers and Tony Falls for a Bounteous Bouffant

In our previous episode, Tati threatened to drop Tony like a lead balloon, and demonstrated an unexpected knowledge of the Bible. And Tony? Well… Tony was just Tony (but with less hair and wearing a whale’s stomach).

“Tony!” Tati whacked another Acolyte of Beguiling Beauty on the head with her umbrella before sharply turning around. “Tony, what are you doing?! Throw away that bloody wig and help me, you fucking hamsters’ lick-spittle!”

Tony was just standing there. There were practically love hearts in his eyes for what looked like a dead rodent in his hands. How that thing could be labelled a wig was beyond her imagining. The Acolytes of Beguiling Beauty had them completely surrounded now, and all he could do was moon over this piece of shit!

“Call me what you want,” cooed Tony, stroking the ‘wig’. “But don’t be dissin’ this bounteous bouffant!”

Tati performed a head spinning, flying somersault and landed right in the middle of the group near Tony. Another second and the wig was swinging at the tip of her umbrella. She grabbed Tony with one hand and brandished the umbrella with the other, driving away the growling and hissing Acolytes.

“What the fuck are these things?” she grimaced. “They’re nothing like any barbers I’ve seen.”

“They kinda look a bit like Edward Scissorhands,” said Tony, almost in awe. “But more androgynous, and with more impressive hair. I just hope they don’t accidentally cut my bits off!”

Tony snatched the wig off of Tati’s umbrella and covered his naked willy with it.

“I don’t believe you!” Tati was furious. She grabbed the calamitous wig from him and threw it away, causing Tony to squeak. “We’re surrounded by an army of Johnny Depp zombies, and all you can think of is your silly doodle?”

“It’s not silly to me. I need my doodle!”

Tati smacked an Acolyte aside. It slid on its back down the wall of the barber shop, and ended up in a crumpled heap on the floor. She yanked Tony with her and cut a swathe through the rest of them, mainlining for the door.

“It’s kind of ironic that we materialised in this hellish barber shop,” added Tony, almost as an afterthought. “Given that we’re now, you know, bald.”

“No, it’s not ironic. You’re bald and a fool!” They were nearly at the door now. “It’s your wishes. The umbrella brings you to the place you wish to be at the most! And while I was trying to think of a safe spot your idiotic fantasies beat me to it!”

“But… but why would I dream of being at the barber shop if I have no hair?”

Tati shoved Tony through the door. He tripped and stumbled into the street, ending up on all fours.

“Just shut up and think of a better place!” barked Tati. She was trying to keep the Acolytes inside with the tip of her umbrella. It was quite sharp, and they seemed to heed this fact, cowering just out of its reach—though this didn’t stop them from clicking their scissor like hands in a rather menacing manner.

“From crater to a whale’s stomach—and now this! How is it that we end up in these ridiculous situations?”

“Stop whining!” snapped Tati. ” Just think! Quickly!”

She tried to barricade the door with her leg, her finger hovering anxiously over the button on the umbrella’s handle. Tony, still on all fours, looked at her horror-stricken.


Catch other episodes in this series:

THE PILOT // Where Tati Makes Tony Blush
EPISODE 2 // Where Tati Makes Tony Choke
EPISODE 3 // Where Tati Gives Tony a Fungus Face
EPISODE 4 // Where Tati Rescues Tony’s Suitcase
EPISODE 5 // Where Tati Grabs Tony’s Shirt
EPISODE 6 // Where Tati Supercalifragilisticexpialidociouses Tony to New Heights
EPISODE 7 // Where Tati Cocks the Hamster and Tony Watches
EPISODE 8 // Where Tati Refuses to be the Mother of Mutants and Tony Pouts

by TETIANA ALEKSINA & TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2020

Open-Source Poetry Four #5 (Final)

Our Dearest Readers,

We should warn you, the creative process can be dangerous, especially when other people are involved. You may think you know where the narrative’s going, but everything veers out of control before you can sneeze or finish another pack of chips.

Fortunately, we have cats. Cats make everything cooler. A rainy day. A dull TV show. A boring book. Even poetry—something that is already cool by default!

So, who do we have to thank for helping us stick the landing? (On four legs like cats do?) Well, the aforementioned cat, of course, but also two cool poetry making machines of the human variety: Obbverse and Michelle Beltano Curtis. (And now we’re seriously contemplating a new comic series about Mr. Mort, a super cat that saves the world from strands of especially excitable string.)

By the way, if you think this whole process was an easy flight, just check our previous editions. There were moments when we thought this would turn into a complete poetic disaster. This was the first time we considered running away in tears of defeat, praying to the ghosts of Shakespeare and Mayakovsky.

Вензель

hm, what should I draw?
maybe a hairy monster with a furry claw
or a demon crow that sticks in the craw
or a huge bloodstained saw

hm, what should I write?
maybe a slow growl will stir up a fright
or a girl will be twirled by a meat-eating kite
or grandma pole-dances in a bikini too tight

hm, what is that?
the words have disappeared, the pictures aren’t flat
they’ve come to life like a cockroach cravat
crawling helter-skelter ’til i scream like a prat

hm, what the hell have i wrought?
my words have sprung to life, a ghastly thought
i need a superhero, musclebound and taut
or just leave my new comic to my cat, mr. mort

Вензель_нижний

by TETIANA ALEKSINA, TONY SINGLE, TOMAS MANKUS, MUNIRA EZZI, OBBVERSE & MICHELLE BELTANO CURTIS
© All rights reserved 2020

BUT IS IT POETRY? // Cynisca (One-Horse Consolation Race)

“Sorry, we’re closing.”
…and she leaves the battlefield
on her gala-shield.

Jingling with armor,
she fumbles with a jammed lock
in the half-light hall.

In the cold bedroom
she kicks into the corner
a chlamys on which

two heraldic cats
with apathetical smiles
claw a lonely heart.

And then stands face up,
mixing her tears with water
and Bloody Caesar.

1265542358_ornament

TONY: So, I wonder…

TATI: Again?

TONY: Okay then. You start! Tell me what I’m wondering.

TATI: If this poem is about puppies and kittens.

TONY: How the hell did you know?

TATI: Oh my god! Are you serious?

TONY: Erm… yes?

TATI: I was fucking kidding!

TONY: Anyway, I want to ask you about Cynisca. Is she a personal hero of yours?

TATI: Cynisca was a pretty ambitious chick. And she was the first woman to win at the Olympics. She even bred horses on the side. But… nope. She’s not a personal hero. Should she be?

TONY: Not necessarily, I suppose. But, hey, you forgot the most important thing about her. Her name means ‘female puppy’ in Ancient Greek! And since everyone loves puppies, I naturally assumed that you’d see her as a bit of a role model. I mean, isn’t that why you wrote about her in a poem?

TATI: No, that isn’t why I wrote about her, Tony.

TONY: Oh. Okay.

TATI: Anyway, while she was the first woman to win at the Olympics, it was only in a manner of speaking. She didn’t actually participate, you see. She was merely the owner of the winning team. The chariot was ridden by men she’d hired.

TONY: Fair enough.

TATI: Doesn’t this interest you?

TONY: I still can’t believe you’re so unmoved by the puppy thing.

TATI: It’s a silly name.

TONY: It’s not silly!

TATI: Stop kidding around! I’m talking about serious things here.

TONY: Woof.

TATI: Anyway, I have read another version of Cynisca’s story where it was her brother who planned for her to win. He wanted to discredit the Olympics by directing her to join the competitions. By having a woman win, he hoped to show how unmanly and trivial this sporting event was.

TONY: So, what about the puppy thing? You mention cats on her cloak in your poem. Do you think Cynisca got along very well with felines, given the meaning of her name?

TATI: Tony, are you going to discuss the poem or continue to say bullshit?

TONY: It’s a legitimate question!

TATI: Fine then. Just for the sake of argument, why would someone who was named after a dog have worn a picture of cats on her cloak? No. Unless, of course, it was a dead cat with its tongue stuck out.

TONY: And two little crosses for eyes.

TATI: Exactly. Crosses for eyes. See? Even you understand. But, wait a moment. Did I write something about crosses in the poem?

TONY: No.

TATI: Then the cats were alive.

TONY: Oh, god. Don’t tell me this has something to do with Schrödinger’s cat!

TATI: No, this was before his time. Stop being silly!

TONY: Meow.

TATI: I can see there’s no point me telling you about a Russian expression we have that literally means: ‘Cats claw on a heart (soul).’ Look, just go and bring me a cappuccino. You would do a better job of that than conducting a serious poetry discussion.

TONY: But how is that remotely connected to what we’re talking about?! I thought this was about feminism, about someone who could be considered a symbol for the rise of women in ancient society. But did this newly found status make her any happier? Even with the cool puppy name thing?

TATI: Scat, you wretched cur!

TONY: Grrr. Hiss.

by TETIANA ALEKSINA & TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2020

TATI’s & TONY’s DEAD POET TOUR // Lines On A Typewriter by James McIntyre

Having received a letter from a gentleman glorying in his typewriter we replied as follows:

You glory in your typewriter,
And its virtues you rehearse,
But we prefer the old inditer,
For to write either prose or verse.

And let each man work his will,
But never never do abuse
The ancient and glorious quill
From the wing of a fine old goose.

by JAMES MCINTYRE (1828-1906)
Public Domain Poetry