Roman Osminkin. \"Riot Cop In Balaclava Write A Letter To Your Mama\"

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ROMAN OSMINKIN

Riot Cop in BalaclavaTwo poems by Roman Osminkin

Online Only


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Thomas Albdorf, I Know I Will See What I Have Seen Before, 2015. via.

March 29, 2016

The English-language collection of Osminkin’s work, Not A Word About Politics, will be outfrom Cicada Press on April 7.

R I OT C O P I N BA L AC L AVAW R I T E A L E T T E R TO YO U R M A M A

riot cop in a balaclavawrite a letter to your mamatell her that you didn’t want tobut they made youhit a womanapproximately her ageshe chanted too loudlyfree Khodorkovskyyou understand that’s not rightfor a pensioner to defend an oligarchhe’s no son to her, let’s see if he spares a fucking ruble once he’s outbut that other one you struck quite sincerelythe one who held the a sign Putin is a criminali think you would’ve supported me on that


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take it down, i tell her, Putin is our president and prime-ministerhe’s raising Russia from her knees and bringing orderbut she didn’t listenmama, you know,these boots and bulletproof vests they are so very heavyand when they get soaked in the rainyour legs and body feel like ten-ton dumbbells and you have to chasesome boy with his fliersstop you son of a bitch i tell himand he yells down with fascism and would’ve even gotten awayif the guys hadn’t helped, they got him from the sideknocked him off his feet and taught him a little lessonthere’s a fucking hero for youas if the country that defeated fascismcan’t figure it out without his help

mama mamaand i came here to studyto become an electrical engineeri wanted to be like Popov whose museum you took me to(remember, i could not believe that a small boyinvented such a complex radio but you told methat in far-away Leningrad he studied for a long timeand it was only later that he succeededand there, in Leningrad, in a gigantic museumstands his first radio)to invent if not a radio of course well who am i to come up with a radiobut to become somebody as you saidand one day i’d come backand bring you a gigantic bouquet of dahlias and i’dhear the respectful whispers of our neighborssee, Olga’s son isn’t an alcoholic like the rest.

i’ll also tell you, mom, about the dream i had recentlyour entire unit went to heaveneveryone’s walking around in white kimonos and greeting each other ceremoniouslysuddenly a short man approaches me


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his kimono whiter than the whitest snowhis gaze sharp and clear like a mirrorhis movements—calm as waterhe bows down and suddenly throws me over his hipand then gets me in a submission holdlike a white-tailed eagle plunging his talons into a golden fishmommy, mommy how can i lift this weighti see a forehead with veins bulging black,i see eyes whose whites are turning red, no, crimsoni keep hitting the matthe man laughs but doesn’t release mehe says remember ivan that up here as well as down therethey only respect the czar and the whipi screamed from pain my leg had gone numb it turns outi woke up the guys they say i’m crazythey say ivan keeps dreaming of his innocent victimsdon’t worry brother we have a raid soonit helps clear the head of all that sentimental trash

mama, alsowe are driving past two burning pillarsand i’m growing afraidthat i’m all alone here among these cold rocksthey stink like a swamp they’re so unstablereeking with ice-cold anxietyand the coming revoltnot even the fires of “Gazprom” can warm them

you’d say that ru-ussia nee-eeds me since i prote-ect herfrom the mercantile jackals from all who refuse to understandthat it’s for their sakes that everyone is workinghelping our motherland and nation from her kneeswe’ve put the oligarchs in their place, we’re fightingcorruption and we’ve hogtied the west

mama at least you understand me, rightmy business is to guard Russia from all threats


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i am the punishing sword of the new russian orderi keep the dark times at bayso that everyone gets to feel proud and unashamedwe looked straight into the eyes of the merkels and obamas . . .

. . . is this a reproach i sense in youno, please don’t look at me like thatit’s so let me take off this balaclava…

(takes it off)

riot cop sans balaclavaearly in the morning sitting in a transport vehiclethrough your hangover & daze you look atthe dawn breaking and the glistening dewand the peaks of Krasnoturiinsk glowing glowing inthe rays of the sun.

—Translated by Anastasiya Osipova

R E VO LU T I O N

Consider the aforementioned word

Really think about it

How did it appear on that screen/page/other surface (hereinafter, medium)?

Turn the medium 180 degrees

uoıʇnloʌǝɹ

Look at the word again

Stand on your head


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(If in your current physical state this is impossible just turn the medium another 180degrees)

Pronounce the word to yourself one syllable at a time

Repeat the word in a barely audible whisper

Pronounce the word aloud at the top of your voice

Glance to both sides

Smell the medium the word’s written on

Think what you could compare the smell to

Lick the medium the word’s written on

Think what you could compare the taste to

Pronounce the word again at your usual speaking volume

And again

And again

Take a look around you

If no one’s around pronounce the word at twice your usual speaking volume

Glance to both sides

If no one’s around shriek the word as loud as you possibly can

Draw it out

With a transition into a squeal on the last syllable,

oooooon becoming IIIIIIII


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Let your body join the scream

Set your emotions free

At this stage you should be joined by others

At least one of your neighbors or coworkers

If no one’s around then open all the windows and scream out each of them in order

If that doesn’t work go outside

Draw it out as long as you possibly can

Shout the word out

Don’t be shy

Walk proud through the middle of traffic singing it

Someone will join you here

Coordinate your actions and sing in unison

Don’t stop

In time your song has to become a resounding chant

Just ignore the disgruntled motorists honking their horns and the cop who’s rightbehind you with a grip on your sleeve fixing to hit you with a billyclub

Give yourself completely over to what you’re doing – sing chant dance

Kick everything else out of your path

Now if you’re really following these instructions

At some point you’re going to have to set the controls for the Kremlin


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Go there

Gather the last of your strength

Take a deep breath

And together shout the word as loud as you possibly can one last time

If the decibel level gets high enough, the Kremlin will have no choice but tobeautifully reveal itself as a house of cards and collapse into a thousand red bricks

Gather them. They’re magical stones, and you need them for the next level

Congratulations! You have arrived at the end of the national level and will receive abonus credit in the form of one extra life

While the next level’s loading, try to relax. Listen to the Internationale.

OK, the next level’s loaded

It’s a global level called

WORLD REVOLUTION

Consider the aforementioned word

Really think about it

—Translated by Ian Dreiblatt

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Roman Osminkin. \"Riot Cop In Balaclava Write A Letter To Your Mama\"

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