Poem: ‘Viktor Borisovich Shklovsky’
Lev Ozerov, translated by Boris Dralyuk, 21 January 2016
When he enters your flat, he makes his presence felt – spinning on his axis, smiling and pert, a smile on his lips, a smile on the back of his head! He offers you his hand – his surprisingly soft hand, which pulls yours down like an old doorbell on a string. No one recalls those doorbells nowadays. Softness and sharpness. The corner of a sphere. He surveys the flat. Words tremble...
