[alexei dreams of lakes]

hi flooding!

the first thing that spoke to me when i read this was that you aren't afraid to lean into the fatalism that exists in russian literature. that is great!

the romanovs, especially alexei, are a very polarizing subject. anyone familiar with them knows that. i think that your poem observes alexei with a mixture of empathy and mockery, but never both at the same time. interesting. your language is tender but unsparing, almost liturgical in rhythm. the narrator stands outside alexei but is clearly aligned with him, treating him not as a child of royalty but as a martyr. they do not intervene, only record. much like most of history did.

the boy prince prays over bruises.
he counts them as relics: first,
the hip like thunder, second, the arm
where winter nested.

gorgeous! i love how the reader is not given any subtext to the narrative, but instead, left to understand through context clues given. it feels like i am eavesdropping on a sacred, suspended moment in time.

here, i assume alexei’s bruises are both physical and metaphysical. his hemophilia becomes a sacred burden akin to a saint’s stigmata. i do think that calling his bruises “relics,” you transform the violence done to his body into something holy. a symbol of a dying empire’s legitimacy. his pain is framed as inherited, not just genetically but dynastically. this makes alexei less a child and more a vessel of historical consequence. it's horrifying in theory, kinda beautiful in execution!

i feel like there are some moments of symbolism for symbolism’s sake though. you flirt with aestheticized suffering by rendering his pain so beautifully it becomes almost stylized. there’s power in that, yeah, but it also risks romanticizing the brutality of a real child’s death. alexei lived constantly in pain, and for what? this poem, i suppose.

rasputin is there, brushing snow from his sleeves
as if it were dandruff, or sin. he says:
the pain is your inheritance, sweet lamb,
wear it like the romanovs wear lace.

oh, rasputin. what a guy!

i think the introduction of rasputin changes the tone of the poem. the idea that he "brushes snow from his sleeves as if it were dandruff" reduces the spiritual grandeur he carries to something human and somewhat embarrassing. it’s casual, bodily, almost grotesque. yet, it is also shameful. when you juxtapose dandruff with sin, the gesture becomes one of spiritual cleansing. pain, sin, and suffering are everyday debris for him. very fitting!

though, why doesn't alexei respond? not even in thought or image. the final lines show that he definitely disagrees, but it lacks his own agency. i get that this omission is likely intentional since he’s passive, but it gets rid of a lot of emotional tension in the poem. it becomes almost mythic to the point of detachment. is he comforted by this explanation, or crushed?

but the boy only wants to eat the frozen reeds,
to lie with the wolves as long as they’ll let him.

haunting!

in the larger arc of this poem, i think these lines act as a soft rebellion. he doesn't speak directly, but his desires speak volumes; he refuses the symbolic inheritance thrust upon him. instead, he wishes to dissolve into silence, animal instinct, and cold. no one else would want these things, but he does. desperation is written as more of a fragile, time-limited hope. i believe that says a lot.

yeah. idk. this is dense, but it's never too dense. i think anyone who reads this needs a level of knowledge on russian history to understand it, but nonetheless it is beautiful in every aspect!

best,
milkweed