Genya Turovskaya, p.2
COSMIC NAUGHT
MIR
59 seconds or 110 days
One can have pleasant dreams in the nude 300 miles
above Kazakhstan
GAGARIN
At hand, my feeling now, till now, at this instant, in a few minutes
Handwriting did not change though the hand was weightless
I did not sit in the chair, as before, but was suspended in mid air
Arms and legs feel as previously, the same as during weightlessness, but now they have weight
I ceased to be suspended over the chair, but eased myself into it
I felt the whole of my life
Am I happy? Of course I am happy
A mighty spaceship will carry me into the far-away
MIR
No vacuum, no incoherent null, trusted null, the null itself
I am four years old
I was fourteen years old
I was watching I remember and I knew
upon reentry I would walk or crawl but I would not be borne aloft again
the shoulders of the crowd
O Kazakhstan!
GAGARIN
Gravity is a heavy load The atmosphere abrades
The stars don’t twinkle here
No null, no time, no I
MIR
I did not know it but was told
No perfume is as sweet as the sweet air of Kazakhstan
To enable, to choose, to bring the station down
to the great square fields of the collective farms
The dividing line is very thin: a belt of film
delicate spheres
Gradual and lovely, it is difficult to put into words
GAGARIN
When I emerged from the shadow of the dense stars I didn’t see the moon
MIR
Mir was just a page, a quick low pass
Seconds disappeared
Maybe we saw the space
the last time in the world, maybe
this is not true, God knows
falling
debris breaks up and burns
Thoughts under control
tonight we begin the irreversible shift
renounce technical measures to fulfill
the final stage
GAGARIN
This burn, this slow elliptical blast and hurl
into the waters
between fickle alignments
and impoverished industries
fall harmless, uselessly into the sea
MIR
Both peace and world
lost contact, suddenly lost
retain losses, pseudonyms
and fall
GAGARIN
Disperse toward me
Things can see, hear
I can feel solid
fall
MIR
To walk on sea legs but to walk on Kazakhstan
MIR
59 seconds or 110 days
One can have pleasant dreams in the nude 300 miles
above Kazakhstan
GAGARIN
At hand, my feeling now, till now, at this instant, in a few minutes
Handwriting did not change though the hand was weightless
I did not sit in the chair, as before, but was suspended in mid air
Arms and legs feel as previously, the same as during weightlessness, but now they have weight
I ceased to be suspended over the chair, but eased myself into it
I felt the whole of my life
Am I happy? Of course I am happy
A mighty spaceship will carry me into the far-away
MIR
No vacuum, no incoherent null, trusted null, the null itself
I am four years old
I was fourteen years old
I was watching I remember and I knew
upon reentry I would walk or crawl but I would not be borne aloft again
the shoulders of the crowd
O Kazakhstan!
GAGARIN
Gravity is a heavy load The atmosphere abrades
The stars don’t twinkle here
No null, no time, no I
MIR
I did not know it but was told
No perfume is as sweet as the sweet air of Kazakhstan
To enable, to choose, to bring the station down
to the great square fields of the collective farms
The dividing line is very thin: a belt of film
delicate spheres
Gradual and lovely, it is difficult to put into words
GAGARIN
When I emerged from the shadow of the dense stars I didn’t see the moon
MIR
Mir was just a page, a quick low pass
Seconds disappeared
Maybe we saw the space
the last time in the world, maybe
this is not true, God knows
falling
debris breaks up and burns
Thoughts under control
tonight we begin the irreversible shift
renounce technical measures to fulfill
the final stage
GAGARIN
This burn, this slow elliptical blast and hurl
into the waters
between fickle alignments
and impoverished industries
fall harmless, uselessly into the sea
MIR
Both peace and world
lost contact, suddenly lost
retain losses, pseudonyms
and fall
GAGARIN
Disperse toward me
Things can see, hear
I can feel solid
fall
MIR
To walk on sea legs but to walk on Kazakhstan