Alex Galper

Up to the Heavens

Outside, on a different planet

somewhere

Arctic winds chill

to the bone

and winter bites.

But here :

in a Palestinian hole

on E2nd

it is hot: carpets, pillows, hummus,

  a plate of kebabs.

My friend

commands respect here

for his fluent Arabic.

A former Mossad,

he pulls on his apple hooka

smiles

at the waiter and

whispers into my ear:

"...How many o'our boys they's

killed...

how many o'theirs

I'd packed up

into the heavens!"

Alex Galper © 2008

translated from Russian by Misha Delibash © 2008

Brooklyn Siberia

I live in Siberia

In the very heart of Southern Brooklyn

In the mornings people are flocking to the taiga of Wall Street

Returning in the evening barely alive, frozen,

  stock-bitten,

Bleeding from computer-bug wounds

Some disappear forever

Mauled to death by the bears of big corporations

Or buying houses in New Jersey

In the spring I see their corpses

Inviting me to follow the same path

From the pages of respectable publications.

Alex Galper © 2008

translated by Mike Magazinnik and Igor Satanovskiy © 2008