Fiends

for friends

Hello,

This, as you can guess, is the last post of the year. This is normally where one would sum up all kinds of year-long results, from the books they’ve read to the accomplishments they’re not ashamed to share.

I did read a decent amount of books this year, but all I can recommend to you is to read a Great Russian Novel, preferably a lesser-known one. After finishing compiling this list, I reread three books from it, with great delight, and I plan to continue doing so further in the new year.

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I also do have some achievements that are appropriate to list:

• First, an anthology called “Forbidden Fruit,” with my short story, is available on Amazon, and it is truly excellent (huge thanks to Nico Harlakenden for pulling it off!).

• Second, another story of mine was accepted into another anthology, ”Odysseus.” It will be released in April 2026.

• Third, another short story is published in the Galim || גלים magazine, which I also heartily recommend. Two more stories will be published elsewhere in the beginning of 2026, and I will let you know when they do.

• Fourth, not one, but two of my articles have been published in my favorite online publication, The Republic of Letters! I couldn’t be happier, especially with the first one, “The Old Testament: A Review,” which is probably one of the weirdest things I ever wrote and also one of the dearest to my heart. Many, many thanks to Sam Kahn for taking a chance on that one.

• And fifth, to finish the list on a nice round number, my novel will be published in Russian at the beginning of the next year. It will be a low-key and print-on-demand deal, but if you’d like a signed copy, write me and we’ll arrange it.

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The last-post-of-the-year is also a good place to make God laugh, i.e., share your plans for the future. So, here goes nothing: I also want to publish an English novel in 2026. For now this is nothing more than a wish. But I will try to approach it from different directions: I’m split between indie publishing (let’s face it, my chances with the big guys are slim to none) and self-publishing on Substack. I will probably gather courage to try both. In case any of that succeeds, you will be the first to know.

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“Fiends” by Nikolai Karazin

Now, to my favorite part of the LPotY: the translated Russian poem.

I tried to find a poem that would be a good representation of this blizzard of a year, with all its darkness, tumult, and confusion. And I think I’ve found one: Pushkin's “Fiends.” As usual, we’ll have a reading in Russian (this time by a brilliant actor), so you’ll be able to hear the music of the poem, then my translation, and then my own poor attempt at reading. As usual, the translation is as faithful as I can make it.

Fiends
Alexander Pushkin

Clouds are rushing, clouds are roaring,
Nigh invisible, the moon
Lightens up the snow that's soaring
through the skies; the night is strewn.
Our troika’s riding, riding;
Jingles, jingles little bell…
And by Lord, it’s frightening, frightening
Midst the nameless plains of hell. 

“Hurry, coachman!” — “'Tis a bind:
Horses, sir, are nearly dead;
And the blizzard makes me blind;
And the road’s all snow-clad;
On my life, we’re in a wild’ness,
We gone lost! No track is seen,
To the fields the fiend had steered us,
Every which way makes us spin.

There, there, look: he’s playing,
Blows and spits at me and worse;
Look—into a ditch he’s swaying
Our panic-stricken horse;
As a milepost, unknown,
Right before me he was pinned;
As a tiny spark he shone
And just vanished in the wind.”

Clouds are rushing, clouds are roaring,
Nigh invisible, the moon
Lightens up the snow that's soaring
through the skies; the night is strewn.
None can bear this spinning, riding;
Silent, silent little bell;
Horses stopped… “What’s there, hiding?”
“Wolves or tree stumps? who can tell?” 

Blizzard raging, blizzard crying;
Horses snorting in the haze;
Far away the fiend is flying;
In the dark his eyes ablaze.
Horses run again, all lather;
Jingles, jingles little bell…
And I see: the spirits gather
Midst the whitening plains of hell. 

They’re unending, they’re unsightly,
As the moonlight plays, deceives,
Motley fiends are dancing sprightly,
Whirling like November leaves…
Why so many? They’re a cohort!
What is this lamenting screech?
Are they here to tomb a kobold?
Do they marry off a witch?

Clouds are rushing, clouds are roaring,
Nigh invisible, the moon
Lightens up the snow that's soaring
through the skies; the night is strewn.
Swarms and swarms of fiends are streaking
In the boundless abyss,
With their wailing and their shrieking
Tearing up my heart to bits…

1830

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And with that, see you next year. We might feel like the fiends are whirling all around us, we might feel like we’re in a sleigh pulled by startled horses in the middle of the sunless winter, we might feel like the blizzard is overwhelming and no track can be found. Don’t panic and don’t give up. We’ll outlive the bastards.

Just carry on.

Happy New Year,

Ꙝ

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Last year’s translation of Shpalikov’s “Whether lucky or unlucky…”: