For the last year or so, poet/tech sorceress Sanya Khurana and I (Annie Finch) have been developing the meter app Poetcraft. Poetcraft will include the first AI in the world able to scan and teach a range of different English meters. I am deeply excited about this project, which aims to move the English language back towards the core human magic of metrical diversity and, to my mind, nudge the world onto a more sustainable, joyful path.
Poetcraft will be trained on 4000 scanned lines of poetry, 1000 in each of four different meters. We have now finished collecting these lines, and we are seeking people who love meter and have experience with scanning to help bring the app to the next step as volunteer Scanners. All scansions will use the classic system of scansion introduced in my workbook How to Scan a Poem and in my classes and online videos. They will use the following symbols: wands, cups, edges, and–as needed—half-wands, ghost cups, and rests.
I am excited about this project and hope you might want to be part of it as a volunteer Scanner.
Q AND A
How will the process work?
Scanners will choose a poem from the project’s Google Drive and scan it on a computer using standard keyboard techniques (forward slash and backslash for wands and half-wands, lower case u for a cup, hashtag for a rest). After saving the scanned version on the Drive, you will mark the poem as scanned on an Excel sheet. That’s it!
How many poems will each scanner need to scan?
As many as you like. We expect each scanner to scan, on average,100-500 lines.
Will I have any support?
Each scanner will be given access to a “cheat sheet” created by me that summarizes the method of scanning used in the project and the use of each of the 6 symbols, and also suggests simple hacks to help you scan faster and more efficiently—and will also soon have access to a brief video going over the same material.
How good will I need to be at scansion to participate?
You should be an experienced scanner, but you don’t need to be a complete expert.
As you go, you will find that the experience of scanning many poems will raise your skills to another level.
What if I get stuck and can’t figure out how to scan a line or passage?
If you get stuck, leave the line unscanned and type a note next to it saying COULDN’T SCAN. All scansions will be doublechecked by an expert scanner, and finally triple-checked by me personally, so we will catch it.
What is the timeframe?
You can start anytime. We hope to finish most of the scansions during the spring and to wind up no later than July 1.
Is there any compensation?
As a gesture of gratitude, all scanners will be offered six months free use of the Poetcraft app (value of projected cost is $99/month). We will also be proud to list the names of all Scanners on the Poetcraft website (if you prefer not to be listed, just let us know).
I’m in! What’s the next step?
Please email us at scansions@poetcraft.org stating your interest, and we will get you started!
like slow motion, every detail is exceptionally clear,
every sprout of grass brings joy,
branches become soft, less prone to breaking.
After a strong wind, we wander in the countryside,
the colours of the fields deepen, gleaming in the light,
bare hillsides, snow turned into shadows,
the wind penetrates our clothes, as we lie on the hillside for a while,
the earth gently trembles, vibrating through our ribs,
lifting a clod of soil reveals
rows of white roots as fine as hair,
those were the innocent days, like birch trees, free and melancholic,
you thought you would stay in this city forever,
in old Slavic yellow houses,
with vinyl records, brass candlesticks, green lattice windows,
the hazy, enigmatic gaze of old photographs,
drinking until late at night, sometimes we wouldn’t say anything,
just listening to the darkness outside,
as if expecting something to happen,
yet nothing ever did.
You walk home alone slowly,
on the quiet, deserted street corner, a lilac tree
emits a faint but persistent fragrance,
like those friends who have long departed this world.
Silence at Nightfall
It’s already too late, to pursue the study of life,
but studying death is nothing more than listening
to a vague whisper through the bushes,
as if something is about to happen,
like a small glass jar of a streetlamp
rises on water, delicately
wavering with small fishes of flickering flame.
Words on the doormat in front of the door,
How do they resist the winter floods?
Talk about rainy days, heatwaves, or distant battlefields
can also bring about dangerous moments, truth
swings between a dependence on things and a dependence on people.
“You are to bring Harbin to Nanjing
instead of bringing Nanjing back to Harbin.”
Deceased loved ones guide me in my dreams,
faith is a matter of geography.
Immersed in the unpredictable,
what you want to do is what others want you to do.
And if you act according to opinions, you will find yourself
in the terror and silence of a Pascalian universe,
where all opinions are nothing more than
your encounters with some people when walking alone at night,
exchanging unclear words with each other
before quickly disappearing into the darkness they came from.
Is it knowledgeable ignorance, or blissful ignorance?
Prometheus warned Sathiel to be careful of fire,
Plato said all writing is a public act,
while you say, writing is rhetoric, which turns people into citizens
and then turns citizens into mobs,
using games to gather thugs in the caves of Rome.
A Cat Looks at Me
A cat halts at the foot of the building,
gazing at me as if looking elsewhere.
Its ears float above the low bushes.
It maintains a walking posture, never sits down
It looks at me as if at an unnamed body,
as if I have no name, no clothes, no identity to be labeled.
My past deeds disappear in the waves at the end of the dam
and the future is just a gaze. I halt my steps
after all, this is a real cat, not a ghost,
A stray, not mine, nor anyone else’s,
It belongs to itself, not a word.
The air between us seems to thicken and grow stale
When its existence on the brink of stepping out of fur
all changes halt along with subtle regrets.
It no longer converts to my standpoint,
but it feels more like a silent blessing and salvation.
It’s just this ordinary and specific cat
quietly stepping out of the vast and blurry array.
It’s not from the childhood libraries and corridors,
the fables of cats chased or followed by people.
In an instant, my existence is laid bare,
my memories and loves turn into shame.
I become ignorant of good and evil, history and labor
with a gentle flick of its ears, I disappear.
After all, this is a genuine cat looking at me
It turns me from an individual into humanity.
My hollow existence like a frozen posture,
one of us must first depart this place,
leaving the other in unnamed death.
A New Poem to Ease the Melancholy
On a spring morning, melancholy lingers,
Surely from dreaming of nameless things again last night.
The revelations it brings are hazy
the grand halls left dim as gods depart,
The stubborn black sheep emerges wrapped in mist everywhere.
Perhaps late loved ones once wore darkened faces,
Sitting by my bedside, gazing at me in deep slumber,
Only to leave disappointed, without a word spoken.
The old house I couldn’t preserve grows shorter and shorter
And cherries the size of thumb tips illuminate the eaves.
Perhaps there were giants treading mountains,
Stacking peaks against the void in a fiery revolution,
And you didn’t know which side to stand on,
You were preoccupied with thoughts,
like a harvest god adorned with flowers,
Forgetting to count pods, grains of salt, seeds, and years.
Perhaps there was a enchanted fairy island,
Lost in treacherous seas,
Taking with it knights crossing the night sea,
And the maiden gazing from the cliffside window.
Or perhaps it’s you, solemn muse of my poetic gaze,
As I toy with words like a brave tin soldier,
Unknowing of good, not calculating human evil.
You lift the veil, pass over my shoulders,
Gaze down upon my harmless play.
I dare not look back.
Your breath brushes against my ears.
Perhaps there’s no evidence of a beach,
Where clear water slowly fills my footprints.
No tangled thickets, nor “cave of ideas”,
Only heat echoing the receding tide’s sound.
A day that begins with poetry may find salvation,
But it’s hard to say how it will engage this day’s daze.
Ma Yongbo was born in 1964, Ph.D, representative of Chinese avant-garde poetry, and a leading scholar in Anglo-American poetry. He has published over eighty original works and translations since 1986 included seven poetry collections. He focused on translating and teaching Anglo-American poetry and prose including the work of Dickinson, Whitman, Stevens, Pound, Williams and Ashbery. He recently published a complete translation of Moby Dick, which has sold over half a million copies. He teaches at Nanjing University of Science and Technology. The Collected Poems of Ma Yongbo (four volumes, Eastern Publishing Centre, 2024) comprising 1178 poems, celebrate 40 years of writing poetry.
Funny how we count time. We try to contain it in seconds, hours, days, years. But we wouldn’t know time passes if memories didn’t fall like petals, Unpacking moments we once cherished.
That once smooth skin Is scarred with lessons and cuts from our first fall. We learn time takes everything, And nothing stays the same, Reminding us to enjoy life before it ends.
But when time actually passes, We shed tears and laugh At the experiences life managed to carry us through. And here we are, Wondering where it all went.
Abstract: The article explores the works of Alexander Arkadyevich Feinberg, a renowned People’s Poet of Uzbekistan. Poetry, by its very nature, is concise and often carries a significant degree of social critique. In contrast, prose, being a more expansive and explicit genre, struggles to endure the scrutiny of those who seek moral purity, even when addressing similar critiques.
Keywords: Alexander Feinberg, uzbek literature, topographical expeditions, internationalism, spiritual boundaries, life portrait.
Introduction
The charm of Alexander Feinberg’s poetry, which shines in the sky of Uzbek and Russian poets, has won the hearts of people of different ages, views, and feats. Alexander Arkadyevich Feinberg is the author of 15 collections of poetry, including a posthumous two-volume edition, published in Tashkent, Moscow, and St. Petersburg, magazines called “New World”, “Youth”, “Mega Polis”, “Star of the East”, “New Volga”, “Arion”, as well as in periodicals on both sides of the Atlantic.
Research materials and Methodology
The memoir book about poet Alexander Feinberg, featuring contributions from 48 authors, presents a collective life portrait that goes beyond his identity as a poet, gifted essayist, and screenwriter. More than anything, it vividly portrays him as a contemporary and fellow Tashkent native, showcasing his diverse personality and creative versatility. Through the pages of this book, friends of the poet share insights into his strengths and weaknesses, his bold determination to overcome life’s challenges, his humble remorse for both intentional and unintentional mistakes, his deep devotion to his homeland, his affection for animals, and his unwavering commitment to his true calling-Poetry.
This deeply personal memoir swiftly secured its place in the history of Russian and Uzbek literature, offering a multifaceted portrayal of A. Feinberg’s era at the turn of the 20th and 21st centuries. Zoya Tumanova poignantly asks:
What signs of the times shine through the poet’s realities?
The book holds significance not only for contemporary readers but also for future generations. For any reader, it is crucial to accurately and thoroughly capture the essence of a writer’s time. This memoir vividly depicts everyday life—how people lived, their earnings, attire, and the traditions of hospitality in the East, where both expected and unexpected guests were received with warmth. It details what people ate and drank, painting a sensory-rich picture reminiscent of Flemish painters who celebrated the joys of abundance and simple pleasures. As A. Feinberg himself wrote:
“The mighty chill of aspic quivers,
Cucumber rings shimmer bright,
Salt flakes descend like tiny snowflakes,
And pepper’s black dust takes flight.”
This memoir serves as a concise encyclopedia of the poet’s life, offering insight into how Alexander Feinberg and those around him lived, loved, created, and faced the highs and lows of existence—discoveries, hardships, and creative inspiration. It introduces his close and distant friends, literary and cinematic colleagues, and even chance acquaintances from his numerous topographical expeditions, which he described in verse:
“The roads, the roads we choose to take,
They promise troubles, they threaten fate,
Both hell and paradise await.”
As Alexander Kolmogorov observed, all these individuals, bound by fate, experienced the mesmerizing artistry that seemed to run through Feinberg’s very blood. Regardless of their age, literary standing, or social position, the poet and his fellow authors shared a common and fervent passion for the written word. As Feinberg declared: “Where the word is not given, there are no rights.”
Ultimately, the memoir seeks to answer one of humanity’s most profound questions: “Why are you here on this earth?”
“Tell me, what will be your answer
When the light flickers in the night,
And with a quiet step, the eternal one
Approaches the flame of your candle?”
His close friend and colleague, the People’s Poet of Uzbekistan Abdulla Aripov, whom Feinberg described as “a true friend of the Uzbek people and a truly national poet, who paved his way to Paradise through his life and work,” echoed these reflections.
Journalist Rustam Shagaev recounted a fascinating moment from his 50th-anniversary photo exhibition, where Feinberg was present, highlighting the poet’s ability to transform even an ordinary gathering into something memorable.
Poetry, as reflected in this memoir, encapsulates everything—meaning and conscience, hope and astonishment, fear and cunning, the skill of navigating life’s challenges, and the courage to confront them directly. It embodies both the well-established principles of modern artistic thought—humanism, internationalism, and the pursuit of social justice—and the drive to transcend conventional aesthetic and spiritual boundaries, embracing the distinct nuances of national and social identity.
Conclusion
Through his words, Feinberg reminds us of the power of poetry to capture life in all its complexity, to challenge conventions, and to preserve the essence of a generation. His legacy, intertwined with the literary and cultural history of Uzbekistan and beyond, remains a guiding light for those who seek truth and beauty in the written word.
Valiyeva N. & Abdusamadov Z. N. (2022). Artistic Peculiarities of the Poetry of A. A. Fainberg. Kresna Social Science and Humanities Research, 148-149.
Sobirova A.A. Analysis of stylistic means in the translation of Alexander Feinberg’s poem “The painter” from Russian into English. Oriental Renaissance: Innovative, educational, natural and social sciences (E)ISSN: 2181-1784 4(01), Jan., 2024.
Malykhina G. “Fainberg’s poetic mine”, Tashkent, 2014
Tartakovsky P.I., Kaganovich S.F. “Russian-language poetry at the present stage”, Tashkent, 1991.
Sometimes fate inflicted hardship and baseness upon me,
Like my fortune, it made me weak in every matter.
Sometimes it guided me towards fulfillment (or pleasure),
In short, it acted very chameleon-like.
●Translation by Shukurilloyeva Lazzatoy
Lazzatoy Shamshodovna Shukurilloyeva
Student of the Uzbekistan State World Languages University, 1st year.
Speaks Uzbek, English, Russian, French, and Persian-Tajik. Holds an IELTS international certificate (2023) and Uzbek national language certificates (2024).
Winner of district, city, and republican-level Olympiads.
Her creative works began to be published in newspapers during her school years, and in 2024, her creative works were included in the collection titled “Bridge of Creators,” published by Lulu Press in the USA. As an active member of the American “Foyle Young Poets” association of young poets and the Argentinian “Juntos Por las Letras” science and literature association, she actively participated in the international conference held on October 19th of this year, reading her poems in Uzbek. Many of her scientific articles been approved and published in prestigious journals. In 2025 been participated with her outstanding article in international conference devoted to Alisher Navoi.
Participant of the “IYC 2024” conference held in New York.
Serves as a “GLOBAL PEACE AMBASSADOR” and “Child Rescue AMBASSADOR” with India’s “Iqra Foundation,” working in the field of peace and child rights advocacy.
She is also an active member of the “Òzlidep” Democratic Party of Uzbekistan.
