I’ve always been fascinated by legends of drowned cities, notably Kitezh, so I particularly enjoyed the poem by that name in a group newly published in Cardinal Points (Стороны света) by Irina Mashinski (whom I can’t help but think of as Irina Mashinskaya, since that’s her name in Russian: Ирина Машинская). I’ll quote the last few stanzas here; for the rest, go to the “group” link above and scroll down:
We haven’t started it but we’ve got to see
how mermaids swim by rusty snapped off doors
of an express stuck in abyssal mud —
and sit on cliffs of rhymes and sing.
As for the meter — as for the pure honey
for iamb of littoral, for anapest of depths,
lighthouses of metaphors, drill towers above shelf waters —
we know that tar at night does look mysterious.
From space that glides so low,
oil spills look like an unknown
Totally unrelated: Owen Hatherley has a nice report on early Soviet cinema at the Grauniad.