Anton Yakovlev Archives - Sensitive Skin Magazine

I Held Her Like a Pencil Drawing

Anton Yakovlev

That was my first mistake. Whoever expected us to become the best movie of the decade needs to go home and become a better person. The rain stayed right where it fell. Even shadows failed better than we. Perhaps I coul...

Sensitive Skin Beer Virus Reading #1

The Editors

Sorry, no April Poetry Month this year - but we've still got plenty of poetry coming your way (and prose too!). We'll be running virtual online readings for the duration of the shelter-in-place order (so...September 2021?). ...

Four New Translations of Sergei Yesenin – translated by Anton Yakovlev

Anton Yakovlev

Please enjoy these four poems from The Last Poet of the Village: Selected Poems of Sergei Yesenin Translated by Anton Yakovlev, now available in print and Kindle format from Amazon. Or ask for it from your local bookstore or...

S02E01 – Anton Yakovlev

Bernard Meisler

Anton Yakovlev in conversation with Bernard Meisler. Welcome to season 2 of the Sensitive Skin magazine podcast! We discuss Anton's growing up in Moscow, during the final years of the Soviet Union, his emigration to t...

Season 2 Episode 0

Bernard Meisler

A season-opening mini-episode of the Sensitive Skin podcast featuring your host, Bernard Meisler. I discuss some of last season's 20 podcasts, what I learned, and the new upcoming season of another 20. Our first guest wil...

FOR HERE THERE IS NO PLACE

Anton Yakovlev

You’ve figured out the colonization of Mars and the need to live in caves for five hundred years. You’ve predicted private nuclear weapons, deciphered symbols of bigotry on some trump cards. You’ve held cookout...

NEW YEAR’S EVE IS THE HARDEST

Anton Yakovlev

NEW YEAR’S EVE IS THE HARDEST By June he was done and done with politics and painting. He couldn’t care less where he’d dropped his KGB card. The shame at being blacklisted only sped up his breathing two or three...

Walking With Difficulty Through the Snow

Anton Yakovlev

1 An old man walked his black dog past a courthouse on his way toward some memory indicator. A faint bouquet barely hidden under his coat, he watched the world with anniversary eyes. They passed a dry steering wheel...