How do you learn the mastery of literary translation? By translating.

The more you translate the better you get. But there is a side effect and I'm just going to call it what it is – over-confidence.

In real life, confidence helps us to move up the professional ladder, to get more friends or to achieve the boldest dreams we could only have. And yet, according to the law of the balance, good things are good in a right amount. Overdose of any good can be a cause of the most surprising in scale disasters.

Over-confidence in literary translation is like driving Bugatti through the streets of London in a doped state. In other words, not a good idea. But I’ll try to keep metaphors aside and get straight to the business.

Being a ...

Who would think that staying at home can be so challenging and tough?! I’m sure, most of us dreamed of a week or better a month off work. But now when we have it, it does not feel so satisfying as we imagined it would.

But, don’t panic. Pandemic can keep us in lockdown for weeks or even months, but it cannot imprison our spirit and it, for sure, cannot stop us from growing personally or professionally.

Tough times are not to break us but to give new opportunities to change.

It is time to reset our mindset and just to take a moment to look around at things that in the chaos of daily responsibilities we had no time to even notice.

For some, it may be just the right time to think about their dreams more seriou...

When I started writing QV, which is my debut novel, I had this vague and at the same time clear picture of what the story was about.

It was about Death. Love. Unethical (in some way) Science. Friendship. Hopes. Dreams. Secrets. Family Dramas. Human spirit. Mysteries. It was all about world that existed on the bones of another world. 

The motto – what dead is dead, was not working anymore in that new world on the pages on my book.

But you know how it is with stories. They come in dozens. Some leave without even as much as a hi, some stay. This one came as a storm, out of nowhere it shook the clear sky above my head. I grabbed it without thinking. I was sure I could see the story as clear as I never saw any story before. But what a tricky thing. It...

i stopped to think about rain
and got a tear
inside my eyes

do you remember evening bench?
that porch, cascade of downpouring night?

the road back home
we used to live apart
but once in love
two hearts forget
the distance cramp

a candy pop
inside two mouths
one taste we shared
and all those stars
that stared at us

and dirty stems of tullips
clutched in freezing hands
October was not gentle
but we found our love in it.

Have you ever met a small person? I’m not talking about size, even though for some size is what really matters. I’m talking about emotional aspect of human presence that makes some of us look like a tiny dot lost in never ending space of any room we walk in. Whereas others, once inside of that same room, would make us feel they are the only ones in it.

So, what was wrong with the Bird that looked like a Fly? One thing obviously – it’s was not a Fly. It was a BIRD! So, why it looked like a fly to everyone else?

For me, as I’m sure for most of you, this matter is personal. We all do this, whether we realize it or not. We make ourselves, in most cases unintentionally, look like mere flies, when in fact, we are gorgeous, cheery birds.

in beading sweat
knee deep in murky water
i saw a vision
of my poetry
dead

it was drifting away
on a radio
wave

crashing in sway
smoke of a blooming
backwards in day

piece after piece
scattered in noise
down through the pipe
of someone else's
verse

and then
was this vision
this picture of me
stripped to a nerve
like a dug out
root of an ancient tree

lost in the pity
of last farawell

two went apart
turning in half
half that existed
no more.

you were a ghost
who never uttered
a word, kept paralyzed
in the jar of your mouth

colony of undefined
illusions
you were its only
and favorite child

you were walking
following moonlight

but we were too wounded
like piece of melted metal
we kept our hearts muted
looked through you

building the borders
between the worlds
that were out of sight.

she bloomed
as plague
in early 19th century
adored all shades of red
and taste of bloody tragedies

ignorant of the worst
tragedy of plague

but seeing him just once
she knew the wrath of skies
and learned
that worst was being plague
inside a single lung
of someone you so loved
and was forever part of

that worst was being here
deprived of any fear
of losing anyone
because the ones you knew
and loved
were all forever gone.

i broke a twig
and perished all my love

it flew away

like smell of dripping juice
through weakly breathing trunks

and rattled though my skull

this night i live
is just a tear
on cheeks
that dry till sore

nightmare is only what
we cannot stand a thought of
anymore.

i gaze upon your ruse
you're like wounds
that ooze

in crimson decadence
your form
is dripping sadness

in hands
that trusted you to hold them
when touch meant
all was lost
and cut were
ways to safe
careless days
of life

this curtain
thinned too much
i see you
even with closed
eyes.

he comes and goes
i come and stay

as if my time is longer

he asks and takes
i ask and give

as if heartbreak is normal

for everyone 
who knows the blame
it must be even stronger

this urge to serve
and urge to help

to ones who care no longer.

you're lulling me
on words
emerging
from the folds
between the sheets

i will forget more times
than usual

then ask you,
to remind me
please

no, no
it's not a mere 
caprice

but need

just like a drunker
i like to drink
all things
till their bottom

though bottomless myself.

my father was a man of picture
his brooding stare
sharpened by the cold

he wore the stones
deepened in the fiction
of his shortly cutted soul

his cup was full of liquid tar
that spilled as far
as eyes could see

he had his vision of someone
who just like him
was never there.