Neko

First Dog in Space

They say that, from space,
the Earth looks like a
small, blue ball, but how
did it look to you, Laika?
From that shuttle like a ballooon
whose string they let go, and which
they never trained for recall?

They say that you were a stray
who never fought with other dogs,
and that the clever people called you pet names
through the wires of your shrinking cages
and that, before you died, overheating
in that heavy, weightless cold, one of them
took you home, and you played with his kids.

They say that, from space,
the Earth looks like
a small blue ball. I'll throw it
for you, Laika, if you'll chase it,

dart through the stratosphere
like a comet, undeserving
of its fate.

Laika

A stray dog on Moscow's streets
became the name
on the world's lips

a rising star circling
the earth in Sputnik 2,
a one-way trip.

Not much is heard of her backups,
Albina and Mushka,
just Laika, meaning 'the barker'.

They were all tested in the centrifuge,
trained to eat space gel,
confined in ever-decreasing spaces.

Yes, there was love:
Yazdovsky who took her home
to play with his children;

the technician who kissed her nore
before the hatch was closed.
Her heart was hardwired to the spaceship,

for three hours she was weightless,
pulse racing, but ate her dinner,
alive to see an orbital sunrise.

Laika

Never have I seen
sadder eyes than Laika’s,
never so lost a look!
Paddling with her soft paws
in inimical vacuum,
(nothing to draw you to your bosom
like Mother Earth’s gravitation)
herself soft snowflake,
opening her soundless mouth
trying to utter either cry or sigh,
just a tiny, tiniest cry,
no matter if no one hears…
But as in a dream,

her efforts were in vain.
To send a dog up there
to be first living creature in space,
how insane!
After in her mind, like a prayer,
wishing farewell
to stray dogs and stray cats
of Moscow streets,
to her beloved four leg fellow,
she probably thought
I shall surely perish,
but my spirit will bellow
of man’s cruelty -
Vast universe will echo…
Never, never have I seen
sadder eyes than Laika’s.

Laika

Although it was cold, so very cold, on the streets of Moscow at least we had each other. Huddled in doorways, scurrying through subways, riding the train to Red Square, scavenging beneath St Basils, wandering through Gorky and begging for frankfurters or boiled sausage outside the backdoors of restaurants and lapping up kefir from the drains. As a baby I'd been brave, learning to survive on the streets like that but when they took me and confined me in that small cage I have to admit I was a little bit scared. Then came the laxatives and the centrifuges and the scalpel cuts bathed with iodine. Dr Yazdovsky let me play with his children a while and for those brief minutes I had high hopes for the future. I was quiet and charming so they say. But when you gave me that final kiss on the nose I suppose deep down inside I knew my destiny lay among the stars. Alone, in silence, I watched the world spinning round, one thousand miles below. Then on the fourth lap I felt the temperature rise and I suppose I just shut my eyes for a moment. I was only three years old.

I Remember Laika

The warm sun and wind keep winter at bay
but it is time to say goodbye to Laika, the dog
the new face of the moon.
The farewell can't be delayed a boy has run to
the outer field sits on a stone tries not to cry
the struggle to accept the unavoidable.
Dark cloud from the North where nature is solemn
there is no hint of gaieties in their towns'
architecture
Winter hearts will dispose and scatter misery
protestants do not allow for lofty dreams.
The wind is cold, new rules people must work harder
the almond tree must stop flowering in mid-winter
spreading unseemly hope over the planet.

For the First Dog in Space

You're being sent up in Sputnik 2,
a kind of octopus with rigor mortis.
Ground control have sworn allegiance
to gravity and the laws of motion;
they sleep without dreams,
safe in the knowledge
that a Russian mongrel bitch
can be blasted through the exosphere
at seven miles a second,
but can never stray far from home.
You will have no companion,
no buttons to press, just six days' air.
Laika, do not let yourself be fooled
by the absolute stillness
that comes only with not knowing
how fast you are going. As you fall
in orbit around the earth, remember
your language. Listen to star dust.
Trust your fear.

Muttnik

Laika to Ground Control
I don’t suppose
you’re coming back for me but
I don’t mind, it’s nice out here.
You said before I launched: there’s no way back
—I’m a halfway thing, more bullet than dog
out into the dark morning
and forever
to this black field
where Great Canine winks
her distant starry eye.
Empty as the space that lies between two barks.
Full to bursting.

Laika to Ground Control
can I chase my tail? I know
you want me to sit still but
it’s calling me, just for a second, please.
I can see our planet from here
smooth like the wind washed it soft and blue,
we’re going round, I’m having the time of my life you don’t have to worry
but can I chase my tail?
There’s nothing here for me to knock over.
I miss you. But I don’t mind,
in a hold silver as this any mongrel can be a heroine; any stray can make history.

Laika to Ground Control
[BACKGROUND STATIC]
sorry, I forgot what I was going to say,

Laika to Ground Control
from above Earth is alive at night,
light golden as a million miniature suns,
makeshift constellations.
What do I look like
from below?
Do I glimmer
like a freckle
or an exit wound?
I’ve been sitting still. You don’t have to worry.
I miss you.

Laika to Ground Control
they have summer in space,
did you know? The hours walk warmer and warmer,
the ceiling gleams with June moons
begging for a howl.
I’m lonely,
moons don’t howl back.
I would sit still for years
if it meant I could go back to you.
I miss you. I don’t mind. I miss you though.

Laika to Ground Control
I miss you.
If you would come out here and pet me
I swear to Dog I’ll be good,
never bark again,
you’ll have to find me a new name.
Kometka, little comet, maybe,
I would crash into the sea
to swim to your side.
Be your satellite.
You’re bigger than Earth in my eyes,
I don’t need stars, only you.

Laika to Ground Control
there are pinpricks of light
behind my eyes.
Hot like a bite.
The world is fast and unbreakable,
and I’m just a dog.
And I miss you.

Laika to Ground Control
I miss you. Have I told you that yet?
Out there in the silk-black nothing they’ve long forgotten what time is.
In here time crawls.
In here everything shimmers,
in here it’s just me.
I think I’m dying.
You don’t have to worry, I was nothing and you swung me from alley to orbit,
from the dirt to the stars.
I don’t mind. I just miss you.
I miss you
like the space that lies
between two breaths.
Full to burning.

Laika

Moscow street-mutt, unloved
stray. Eleven pounds of bone, of
pelt, of tail. Who can weigh
the heart of dog? What dials
or instruments may measure
loyalty; the desire, ard-wired,
to obey? Dogs have no gods,
know only to worship the hand
that feeds. There is no canine
word for *pray*. Brave little
cosmonaut, faithful to a fault;
caught and collared, Earth no
more than a distant ball with
which you cannot play. How
the words that sent you on
your way crackle through
the ragged dishes of your ears,
a comet's tail of breaking
syllables that even now leave
their trail: Laika, in. Laika, lay.
Good girl, Laika. Wait. Stay.

After 2,570 Orbits, Sputnik 2 - including Laika's Remains - Disintegrated Upon Reentry

Laika was quiet
and it turned out

it was impossible
to do something

nice for her
she had so little

time left to live
we cannot speak

the more time passes
I'm sorry

after placing Laika
in the container

we kissed her
nose

and wished
her bon voyage

knowing
she would

not survive
the flight

First the Dog

So first the faithful dog will go
and after it a pig or ass
through the black grass will beat a track
along it will the first man steal
who with iron hand will smother
on his glass brow a drop of fear

so first the dog honest mongrel
which has never abandoned us
dreaming of earthly lamps and bones
will fall asleep in its whirling kennel
its warm blood boiling drying away

but we behind the dog the second
dog which guides us on a leash
we with the astronauts' white cane
awkwardly we bumb into stars
we see nothing we hear nothing
we beat with our fists on the dark ether
on all the wavelengths is a whining

everything we can carry on board
through the cinders of dark worlds
name of man scent of apple
acorn of sound quarter of color
should all be saved for our return
so we can find the route in an instant
when the blind dog leading us
barks at the earth as at the moon