top of page
  • Dmitry Blizniuk

Alive, alive: Dmitry Blizniuk

Dmitry Blizniuk is an author from Ukraine. His most recent poems have appeared in The Pinch Journal, River Poets , Dream Catcher, Magma, Press53, Sheila Na Gig, Palm Beach Poetry Festival and many others. Dmitry Blizniuk is the author of 'The Red Fоrest' (Fowlpox press, Canada 2018). He lives in Kharkov, Ukraine.


Alive, alive

The rainy evening

has sealed us

with fluid wax of rain

inside a taxicab

along with the driver and a bag of groceries.

The rainy evening

boasts its streetlamps and illuminated shop windows

it shoves in its bent fingers with massive rings

like a crazy black rapper;

it shakes a heavy gilded chain on its neck:

yo, dude, listen to the freestyle of the street drops!

And I listen and heed to the shower.

I see a man of rain hanging from the roof,

spewing quicksilver from the downpipe.

It's so difficult to believe

that once we used to be fish.

We vanish in the depth of unphilosopher stone.

The diamonds turn into graphite dust.

The monumental, big-boned grand piano of the avenue thunders.

It sags on its crooked dragon's legs.

A passer-by presses the gray keys of the crosswalk.

The headlights snatch from the darkness the keys of the tree trunks

clinging-black like wet dresses.

The night strums us.

The night plays us back.

The night fools around with a waltz of bitten-off fingers.

I wonder, had anyone known before the Big Bang

that we both of us (not counting the driver)

would get stuck in a cab in the middle of the Universe?

Did the divine plan include our love and dinner:

meat and mushrooms, cheese, grapes, red wine?

The god bluffs,

and the royal flush of zodiacal signs is highly suspicious.

The game will last long, believe me. The shower, some jellyfish things –

wet, octopus-like -

lash their arms against the roof and the windows;

the benches shine glossily;

the light jumps up and down like a cornered rat.

I think, I feel you – it means you're alive.

It's a great luck and great happiness to live and to love.

It's a great crime against the stars,

against black holes, galaxies,

space zombies.

You slightly press my hand in the darkness.

Your finger strokes my palm, and my fingers answer –

outside of me – the fingers snuggle, play and kiss each other

like seals on an iceberg.

Streetlights sweep past outside;

they are gray-haired old hags with burning unbound hair;

they curse the slowing rain in ancient witchese.

Dull sinister windows float by,

and the sleek mannequins

look at us with envy in their tense postures.

We are alive, my love

Alive, alive,

we're living bait in this deluge of the world…

(translated by Sergey Gerasimov from Russian)


Recent Posts

See All

ZiN Daily is published by ZVONA i NARI, Cultural Production Cooperative

Vrčevan 32, 52204 Ližnjan, Istria, Croatia

OIB 73342230946

ISSN 2459-9379


Copyright © 2017-2021, ZVONA i NARI, Cultural Production Cooperative

The rights to all content presented at belong to its respective authors.

Any further reproduction or dissemination of this content is prohibited without a written consent from its authors. 
All Rights Reserved.

The image of Quasimodo is by French artist Louis Steinheil, which appeared in  the 1844 edition of Victor Hugo's "Notre-Dame de Paris" published by Perrotin of Paris.


are supported by:

bottom of page