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Dzvinia Orlowsky

Dzvinia Orlowsky is a founding editor of Four Way Books, translator, and author of seven poetry collections with Carnegie Mellon University Press including A Handful of Bees, reprinted as part of the Carnegie Mellon University Press Classic Contemporary Series; Bad Harvest, a 2019 Massachusetts Book Awards “Must Read” in Poetry; and her most recent, Those Absences Now Closest, named to Brilliant Book’s Most Brilliant Books of 2024 list. Her poem sequence “The (Dis)enchanted Desna” was a winner of the 2019 New England Poetry Club Samuel Washington Allen Prize selected by Robert Pinsky. Her co-translations with Ali Kinsella from the Ukrainian of Natalka Bilotserkivets’s and Halyna Kruk’s poetry have been short-listed, respectively, for the 2022 Griffin International Poetry Prize, Derek Walcott Prize for Poetry, ALTA’s National Translation Award in Poetry and the 2025 PEN American Literary Award in Translation.  Their co-translation from the Ukrainian of Oleksander Dovzhenko’s novella, The Enchanted Desna, is forthcoming from Lost Horse Press in 2026.  www.dzviniaorlowsky.com

  • Three Poems

    You suckered me, Legs—

  • The Wind Cried Mary  

    In 1967 when Hendrix coaxed, Are you experienced?

  • Back in the U.S.S.R

    We weren’t the Beach Boys’ California girls,

  • The Village Crow

    The village crow knew everything—

  • Given Plums

    Early July my sister and I filled two sacks of plums from our orchard. We shook each tree until the ripest orbs fell

  • Let the Dead Bury the Dead

    Surely she would want to hear one final song, something from the Carpathians, something folkloric about flying

  • Why I Hate Nudist Camps

    Wayne had already flung off his t-shirt, pulled off his black Khakis to set up our tent—I can work faster if I'm naked

  • Stone Cross

    Remember your village of always uphill,

  • The Fortieth Day | Pussy Riot/Want/Don’t/Want

    Now she called forth nights of a different kind of brilliance when the moon wrapped every thing with light—

  • Bad Harvest

    Does my name take your tongue’s

  • Wooden Boards

    My father carefully rolls his pant leg up, places his leg between two wide boards. He tells my mother to jump hard on

  • Firing My Father’s Mossberg

    At the shooting range,