Category: english

The Dawn of Eternal Winter by Veronika Sizova

Featured ~ Veronica ~ 4 Comments

My Debut Novel

Get my novel on Amazon

The Dawn of Eternal Winter by Veronika Sizova. The book cover shows Saint Isaac's Cathedral at dawn and a young woman in a burgundy cloak amid the winter scenery.
The Dawn of Eternal Winter by Veronika Sizova

Dear followers, I have returned with an exciting project—Life Rattle Press has published my debut novel about a young woman escaping the Russian Empire.

Book Summary:

Saint Petersburg, 1905. Amid civil unrest, Margarita boards the train to Paris, escaping the claws of the Russian Empire’s ruthless regime. At war with its neighbours, her homeland collapses, leaving millions of broken lives in its wake. Recounting her past to the woman who saved her, Rita takes the readers to the icy gates of Siberia, the colonnade of St. Isaac’s Cathedral, and the stage of the Mariinsky Theatre.

The Dawn of Eternal Winter is the debut novel by a Russian-Canadian writer, Veronika Sizova. A daring psychological thriller with romance, fantasy, and suspense, this text synthesizes past and present, beauty and terror, insurgence and war. Set in a fictionalized version of pre-revolutionary Saint Petersburg, this tale of loss, grief, and betrayal becomes a window into the cold authoritarian world where love and freedom are against the law, but the fire of hope burns.

P.S. If you love LGBTQ+ historical fiction, you won’t be disappointed!

Where can you buy it?

Review it on Goodreads and follow my Author Page for updates!

I hope you enjoy reading my novel as much as I enjoyed writing it.

I am sending you many thanks for continuing your journey with The Waves of Poetry.

In memory of the Strawberry Moon

~ Veronica ~ 11 Comments
Two young women are sitting on the precipice. One of them looks at the sunset, while the other one gazes at her tenderly. There is a mountain landscape behind them.
Contentment by Maxfield Parrish

~Love has more shades than the sky itself.~

When I let go of your hand many moons ago, deep down, I knew I would never hold it again. I still see your ghost, now and then, hovering over the cliffs and mingling with the mist between the mountains… At sunset, your shadow haunts the valley where we used to dream. We made up stories; we gathered berries and laughed; we conjured up entire lives, intertwining our thoughts like grapevines and drinking their mellow nectar until we were intoxicated with passion.

Continue reading “In memory of the Strawberry Moon” →

My Translation of Marina Tsvetaeva’s Cycle “Girlfriend” – Part 9

~ Veronica ~ 10 Comments
Illustration: Jeunes femmes sur la lande au clair de lune by Marcel Rieder
My Translation:
***
Azure hills near Moscow linger,
Tar and dust  — in the lukewarm air.
I sleep all day, all day I laugh  — let's say
I am recovering from winter.

I am walking home in utter silence:
For unwritten poems — no remorse!
I prefer, to every single verse,
The rattling wheels, the smell of fried almonds.

When the mind is beautifully empty,
Always blame the heart — it is too full!
As though little waves, my days unfurl;
From the bridge, I  watch them fall aplenty.

Someone's gazes are too soft and tender
In the tenderness of lightly heated air...
I am falling under summer's spell,
Barely recovered from winter.

(March 13, 1915)
Continue reading “My Translation of Marina Tsvetaeva’s Cycle “Girlfriend” – Part 9” →

My Translation of Marina Tsvetaeva’s Cycle “Girlfriend” – Part 6

~ Veronica ~ 20 Comments
Two women embracing in a snowstorm, a painting by Édouard Bisson called "Winter."
Illustration: ‘Winter’ by Édouard Bisson (French, 1856-1939)
My Translation: 
***
How merrily the snowflakes brightened
 Your—grey, my—sable fur,
 How at the Christmas fair excited
 We looked for ribbons—best of all.

 How rosy-pink and very savoury
 I ate too many waffles—six!
 How every ginger horse delighted me—
 In honour of Your noble deeds.

 How vendors traded garments—full like sails—
 They sold the cheapest shreds and swore,
 How at the Moscow ladies, young and strange,
 The country women gaped in awe.

 How in the evening, when the crowds had left,
 We entered the cathedral, bored,
 How on the Virgin Mary's face bereft
 Your gaze fell like a solemn sword.

 How gloomy was her countenance and gentle
 The love in her exhausted eyes,
 Locked in the icon case with chubby angels
 From the Elizabethan times.

 How You let go of my hand tenderly
 And whispered: "Oh, I want her so!" 
 How you have placed a candle carefully 
 In candelabrum - yellow, tall…

 —O, with an opal ring mysterious
 Your Hand! —O, all my wretched plight—
 How I have promised You, my dearest,
 To steal this masterpiece tonight!

 How to the inn of this grand monastery
 —The rumbling bells and setting sun—
 Blessed like two baptized girls with honesty
 Like a battalion, we have come.

 How I have told You—to remain as beauteous—
 With age—and always spilled the salt,
 How for three times—You were so furious— 
 In cards, my King of Hearts had won.

 How You have squeezed my hair in sweet reproach,
 Caressing every single curl— 
 How cold was Your enamel flower brooch
 Which made my lips tremble and burn.

 How I, against Your slender fingers.
 Have brushed my tired, sleepy head,
 How You have teased me like an infant,
 How You have loved me just like that…

(December 1914)
Continue reading “My Translation of Marina Tsvetaeva’s Cycle “Girlfriend” – Part 6” →

Ode to Saint Petersburg

~ Veronica ~ 13 Comments
Snowy landscape with a statue of Peter the Great, the first Russian Emperor, covered by snow.
My photo of St. Isaac Cathedral and The Bronze Horseman (Peter the Great’s Statue), 2017.
The Spire of the Admiralty Building with an angel on top is visible, while the building itself is blocked by the snow-coated trees.
My photo of The Admiralty, 2017
The facade of the Winter Palace, framed by icy branches of trees.
My photo of the Winter Palace, 2017
Roses blooming in the Peterhof Gardens, surrounded by greenery.
My photo of The Peterhof Palace Gardens, 2020
Saint Petersburg - the city of the Dead,
Where dreaming spirits haunt the mist-cloaked streets.
A diadem of rubies crowns your head,
And silver armour lines your mighty fleet.

Let myriads of angels guard your spires
Against the pain and suffering of war:
Rejoice, the bygone northernmost empire,
Built on deception, cruelty, and gore!

The Winter Palace flaunts its azure gown -
A ballerina on the frozen lake,
Whose beauty flares, as if about to drown
Beneath the burden of her last mistake.

May a luxuriant, wild garden grow
Where once was land of misery and snow.

The Star Festival

~ Veronica ~ 15 Comments
This is a 1927 painting by Edwin Blashfield. It is an allegory of spring in which a female nude representing spring stands on a crescent moon, with an angel watching behind her. She is scattering stars throughout the cloudy sky.
Spring Scattering Stars by Edwin Blashfield
This painting depicts a group of fairies from a Shakespearean tale dancing in the forest at night.
A Midsummer Night’s Dream by Gustave Doré
This artwork is an allegory of winter. It portrays two women in light semi-transparent garments. The younger woman seems to have fallen asleep on her friend's shoulder.
Winter by Wilhelm Kray
This painting depicts a nude woman falling through space, like a shooting star.Her body radiates light, and there is a string of pearls around her wrist.
Falling Star by Witold Pruszkowski
My distant angel,
Only you can decipher
This secret message.

Deep in the shadows
Where summer turns to autumn
Once a year, we meet.

Two star-crossed lovers
Separated by darkness,
United by light.

The sky will show you
Our celestial counterparts:
Vega and Altair.

Song of the Raven

~ Veronica ~ 25 Comments
The artwork portrays a young woman sitting on the grass with a crow perched on her hand. Both of them look at the crescent shining brightly in the night sky.
Illustration: The Moon Asked The Crow by Christian Schloe
We are spending more time apart than together
Playing silent games…

Are we lovers or ghosts, lighter than feathers,
Leaving nebulous stains?

Let my longing be nectar to your amorous venom,
Which leads me astray -

Our memories echo a murderous raven
Looking for prey.

Tenderness has become a torturous weapon
In your loving hands,

And I swallow my words like the earth swallows Heaven
Each time it rains…

Ceci n’est pas une Rose

~ Veronica ~ 20 Comments
This painting features a rose blooming alone on the edge of a cliff surrounded by the sea; it is dawn, and there are beautiful clouds in the sky blending with the horizon.
L’utopie (Utopia) by René Magritte
This surrealistic painting captures a gigantic red rose, occupying an entire room.
Le tombeau des lutteurs (The tomb of the wrestlers) by René Magritte
This surreal image portrays the ocean ic beach at sunset. Instead of the sun, there is a large rose, which seems to float on the waves.
L’invitation au voyage (The Invitation to Travel) by René Magritte
A portrait of a woman gazing longingly at a rose in her long golden hair. There are impressionistic visions of the sea and the mountains in the background.
Le Roman Populaire (The Popular Novel) by René Magritte
If you were a rose,
You would hide in the dark
Until I discovered your delicate spark.

If you were a rose,
Every flower would fade,
Entranced by the perfume which you radiate.

If you were a rose,
Your soft, velvety skin
Would cover my eyes with the raptures unseen.

If you were a rose,
I would kiss your wild thorns,
Crimson with blood, as it lingers and burns.

If you were a rose,
You would bloom all year long,
Drinking my tears when I cry, all alone.

If you were a rose,
You would grow in my heart,
Entwining it gently, as you tear me apart.

My garden has blossomed 
With sorrow and loss.
Why didn't you tell me that you were a rose?