Poems by Georgy Ivanov: Kind of Depressing, But…

But some poems are amazing. I mean not all of them, no. In fact, most of them are repetitive as hell – trees, cold, something in the window. I don’t know why Ivanov never saw anything through, let’s say, a door or under his bed or in his closet. Maybe he was in some anti-door league. But I guess I get the cold part – to be Russian and not to write about snow and cold would be unnatural.

But a few poems are fantastic and truly creepy. Here’s one:

I will gradually become trained,

March with others, day out, day in.

Will not worry about the mundane.

Following regulations feel shame.

They stand – I stand. They sit – I sit.

Will remember my hundred-digit sign.

Be loyally grateful to hell for bloody

Stars in constellations above my head.

What do you think?