Mike Ravdonikas: Poems

Microwaves from the Big Bang / Reading about cosmic radiation is like a prayer — for what better way of utterly resigning to your place in space and to the scale of things is there than this: the micro-tremble moving through your heart that carries in it a forsaken echo of the start of everything — the white glow of primordial light, red-shifted to a harmless fibrillation. @verse by MR

(This one is a bit heavy on references, so I'm including a ChatGPT analysis. In this brave new world of 2023, that article took about 30 minutes to craft — sometimes rephrasing the request, sometimes deleting a sentence here and there to make things more compact; the only thing the AI couldn't handle well was choosing the particular examples, I ended up adding them myself to save time.) A Prayer / Read the names of great painters — to plant your feet back on this Earth and to tether the spirit, too tired of low information. Thus: Boldini; and look at their eyes, at their hands so dissolved in the air. Study Sisley, alone in a winterscape, sodden with snow. Stormy Gainsborough, run from those looks, you unwary of heart. Take a rest by the side of a haystack and think of Millet. Semiradsky, his sun playing leopard in shadow of trees. Follow Hopper, alone in a city or outside of town. Dream of Harris, alone in the ice of improbable shades. Marc and Macke who failed to survive through the war. Twilight Vrubel who looked to the Other side, searching for more. And the greedy Grechetto who valued his objects and brilliant blue. (It's a pity that digital copies won't give you a clue.) @verse by MR === And if you're not yet bothered by AIs, here's why you could be:

Midnight scramble / The agony of looking for your phone when you can not afford to make it ring, at night: a black misplaced device laughs at its owner from some unexpected corner of the dark room — Here? No, it's the third time that I look behind this pillow... And, unlike your glasses, it is never on your head. @verse by MR (Next time, look for something you've removed, like a gown or jacket. It's in the pocket, I guarantee you.)

Interview with a war / What are your plans? Any surprises? Where do you see yourself a month from now? Five years? Let’s talk about your childhood. Do you feel you’re here today thanks to your mother’s or your father’s influence? Explain this 8-year gap in your career. Are you expecting children? How about ambitions: would you rather rule the world – or focus on perfection in a single country? What makes you a better candidate than all your peers, especially those with more experience (in other markets)? Compensation: do you feel this number would be just? I must say that your references are impressive: highly recommended by the worms… Now for the real question: How come we’re on speaking terms?? @verse by MR

Dubai's Cold Skin / I like to cross that space between the buildings — just to touch some undeveloped ground, shovel some sand and gravel with my sandals — wondering which dried out sea had once carressed these crystals only to be dumped here by a truck. @verse by MR

Migrations / soon the season will take me far away from heavy books will sit on summer shelves unleafed through undisturbed save by the duster of the maid until October smiles Orion from the balcony and falcons instead owls and no more dogs in restaurants and has it really been another — yes, we're back and, why, we aren't even gone yet. @verse by MR

The Lands of Poppies / You can’t bring poppy seeds of any kind into the Emirates, they told me. So it is here, outside, that I enjoy my dearest flowers bloom their bloodstains on the grass under the passing clouds, their tissue petals – oh so fragile, oh so loud. @verse by MR

/ Clipping sound of scissors / My barber's like a priest: how long since your last haircut? Then, we sometimes smile that way and back until he says: 'No more, I think.' And I agree and dive into the world, refreshed by silence.

/ Departed / No, Jesus is not here. I saw his kind, sad face on board a train, just standing at the door and looking out into the darkness of an empty platform – no one there to see him off, except a moth, attacking station lamps by way of “fare-thee-well”. And when the bell and then a puff and then a tug removed him, sideways, into distance – blue-white signs said “Godless” and the night said “Gone.” @verse by MR

// Durée A quarter of a century is longer than a quarter of an hour – by only ten @verse

// Night on the Marina A red balloon, almost exhausted, creeps along the wall pushed by the wind, like a lost pet. Oh, how you soared, you poor thing! Did you think the Earth forgets? @verse by MR

Coming back to Dubai in spring has its advantages, even if this isn’t exactly the place for blooming cherries and magnolias. @verse by MR

// Off the Books God isn't a medication, prescribed and consumed like the doctor said. God doesn't have Terms of Use, and he would never stoop to fine print. God is what you know in your heart – and you know that. And yet you keep asking that others explain: what God is, what God does, what he wants you to do. And when you believe them they happily call it 'belief'. MR @verse

// My life as a rat Yes, every city is a cage of streets, seen from above, but also – of your habits: Paths you take (or don't), cafes you frequent, squares you pass on your way home, to work, to dance on Friday night, and restaurants you might have dined at, had they not been closed. Oh, yes. A dozen roads and fifteen hundred extras would be enough to film your whole damn life on set – and yet you need a million people to feel thoroughly alone? Ten thousand destinations to pretend you're cornered? Five hundred thousand square kilometers to stay away from land in towers, way above the 40th floor – Ah, yes. A Universe, to know: it's there, outside the door. MR @verse

// A Cummings nocturne The night guards disappear into the darkness noise of their devices scraps of football voice a family with far- away child or a gently dog sounds village life an ocean miles ago Palms bitterly bright outside the office building – 2AM white streetlight A beached taxi driver next to tire phone lighting face: pale cigarettes of this today

// Tearing off another page Here’s to another month Of languid, peaceful winter, Only rarely windy, Only slightly cool. @verse

Came up with this format for mike_ravdonikas on Instagram. Weird that a channel somehow feels like a space for text-only content, despite the fact that Telegram can handle media so well. 😕 This album looks better here than it does on Insta.

// More of you It may be well that we don't have a daughter – else my heart could burst from seeing you, condensed in a new being, not entirely repeated – but carried forward with a tint of me (some waviness of hair? of somewhat lighter black?) I don't think I could know how to react without dissolving, how to hold this in my arms without imploding from the power of the fact of yet another such existence. MR @verse

// Tearing off the calendar page What’s a month to a year? Less than a finger, More than a tooth.