Is it just me, or did I once promise to publish the full text of Brszny Derydaripov’s epic poem, The Mark of the Moth?
No, I am not in error: and for those who charmingly doubt my ability to ignore promises, here’s the proof. I do seem to have half-heartedly suggested that this work might be made available for your perusual sometime in the near future.
The truth is, however, that I haven’t navigated my own way through the poem enough times to have gained the confidence to set it free from the comfort of its cocoon. Do I doubt its worth? I won’t go so far as to say that. Deridaripov’s poems often seem underwhelming at first glance – and I will give this one every chance of spreading its wing at a later date.
Meanwhile, my own dear moth poem lovers, I ask you not to shed a tear, for it so happens that my ever-swishing net of literary exploration has caught a much smarter specimen in the shape of Taiwanese poet Ye Mimi’s wonderfully titled work, A Moth Laid Its Eggs in My Armpit, and Then It Died (translated by Steve Bradbury). Read it here.
(Very many thanks to Calque for making this work available to the world).