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

cooks & cocks (1st meal after lent) 18+

she rides cock, baby
it’s huge with big red feathers
gee up! gee up, baby!
a massive crest and sharp of heels

she rubs cock, baby
drags her fingers through its feathers
rasp off! rasp it off, baby!
crop its cocky crest, dull its heels

such a giant in its field
it’s fed its pride in grease
bums up! puckaw! spit roasted!
a glorious coq au vin!

she soaks cock, baby
marinades to taste its feathers
salt up! salt it up, baby!
drink a toast to crest and heels

she eats cock, baby
plucked rude of all its loud feathers
om nom nom! om nom nom, baby!
gnaw it ’round, chew it through

such a giant in its field
it’s fed its pride in grease
bums up! puckaw! spit roasted!
a glorious coq au vin!

by TETIANA ALEKSINA & TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2020

quarantine ballad

an orange lays on the table
juicy and fresh
the apple is feeling rotten
much less than blessed
a radio on the wall
forecasts a storm
the tv near the window
declares the day too warm

two ants near my feet
fight for a crumb
a chaffinch takes flight
escapes the mortal thumb
life all around me
is full of small wonders
evolution’s more than
stray, successive blunders

that gives rise to hope
no, i’m not a mistake
forged in the heart of stars
you plus me, we equal awake
even if sometimes
i feel like a rotten apple
i’m an orange soul
warm beneath the leafy dapple

by TETIANA ALEKSINA & TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2020

ABSURDIS EXTREME // Case Study #2 [1/2/1983] by B.A. Loney

This is the story of a billboard. An old billboard on the corner of Big Lasher and 20th. It was covered in endless layers of shabby ads. A bit of text here. A model’s face there. Some bird shit.

The bird shit was like a spray of iron pellets embedded in the metal and paper. That’s how hard it had gotten beneath the harsh, bone bleaching sun. To the lonely earthworm looking on from below, these were portents of doom. Well, they would have been portents of doom had the earthworm been able to see.

The fact that this earthworm was as blind as a worm—and deaf like one too—isn’t terribly important for our super serious scientific research. A gust of wind flapped paper over the model’s nose with a loud pop. Now, that detail is important. As is the detail that upon not hearing this, the earthworm crawled up. We’re not sure why it crawled up. Perhaps it wanted a view it could not see to accompany the sound it could not hear. No one can know the mind of an earthworm, okay? You just need to accept this.

If, indeed, an earthworm has a mind.

So, anyway, the earthworm eventually reached the billboard’s top. Unsurprisingly, it saw and heard nothing. It wondered where it was now relative to where it had been, and felt similarly clueless. It’s really not easy being an earthworm.

It was on this cusp of despair that the earthworm felt something like hard peas digging into its ribs. (Do earthworms have ribs? Gah. Anyway.) The earthworm could have sworn it was feeling a letter ‘A’. Of course, every earthworm knows Braille. It’s the first thing wormlets are taught in school. So, yeah, this was definitely feeling like the first letter of the alphabet…

The earthworm fidgeted a bit, edging its body over to the right. Yeah, an ‘A’. Driven by curiosity, it started to move along the trail of fossil bird shit, not knowing that it was fossil bird shit. You see, earthworms are not only blind and deaf, they also can’t smell for shit. Still, it was old, dried up shit, so the shit no longer retained its shitty smell, thus the earthworm couldn’t have smelled it even had it possessed a nose—which it clearly didn’t. (We can’t believe how often we were able to squeeze the word ‘shit’ into this paragraph!)

It took nearly two hours, but the earthworm was patient. It painstakingly moved its clammy, naked body over every shitty bump at the top of that billboard. It got turned on a few times during this process, but earthworms don’t have penises to get boners with, so the arousal was strictly cerebral. We suppose this means earthworms have minds after all, and that the mind is the most powerful sex organ.

But, again, we must omit this fact for now because of its quantifiable littleness. That very same day, the old billboard on the corner of Big Lasher and 20th was scrapped and sent off to be melted down. It was turned into a dozen new shiny shovels that every day since have cut many earthworms into halves, giving them all a new life that has been twice as good.

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