2021.02.22.
Steer clear of the blades
Versions: #1
A palm on my shoulder.
A stamp
on one of the wings,
Snafu at the barracks:
a triple S day – dry spaces are tight,
My journal gets damp. I am walking the earth just to ease
My farewell of a flight.
Three beats - to the ball
of wax figurines,
A quarter - to death.
Some seven odd hides
reap a fistful of fur – odd.
Shall my drive to exist
be as strong as to sing? - No less.
Tie my thread in a little knot.
Cold April yields
hot dreams which boil the blood
Infected with germs
of virally new tunes,
As every target of the nearest war has laughed
Revealing her craving for love and her youth.
Let the caring doctor
hit the vein and spare the nerve
With the needles of rays, fill syringes with curatives solar.
Don’t cry, don’t you cry. Be still and observe
Love foaming through
the throat.
Catch her, catch –
on your lips. For the tumblers shall not suffice.
A torpedo of sounds
strikes the chord, so – drink!
Look: an ad on a banner of the last of the springs – flies,
Rocks this square window, and the square window – swings.
A punctured temple. Blind hordes on the rise.
Do dare to dodge your exemption,
to shed your mail.
My spoils of war – a chunk of my trophy ice
I kiss as I silently near the flame.
Us – the -mongrels-by-rats –
we are the bird’s adoptees.
And each fiend by his third
still remains hard-a bullet.
Lie low and witness
a nuclear prince
Ascend with his whip
as a ruler.
Don’t weep, don’t you weep. For whom would we cry?
That’s the likes of us orphans
make the ranks of the braves!
The time is up, our time to fly!
Hey you ‘all! Clear of the blades! Keep clear of the blades!
2019.02.16.
Triptych in Rememberance of V. Vysotsky
-1-
If it's so, good. If it's all for a reason,
If the wind is to blow and the trees are to wave,
If we live a happy life [only] so long as we don't live to the age of one hundred,
And then we go every which way, but then we still come back.
If we live a happy life [only] so long as we don't count up to one hundred,
And then we go every which way, but then we still come back.
Everyone comes back: friends and foes,
Via the most beloved and loyal women.
Everyone comes back, and they go to the circles [of hell],
And again they don't trust their fate, to a greater or lesser extent.
Everyone comes back, and they go to the circles [of hell],
And again they don't trust their fate, to a greater or lesser extent.
If it's so, good. That means they seek their fate,
But instead they find themselves, if they find at all,
If you've seen a hole in a forehead in a coffin
Going belly up, kicking the bucket at rest with fathers, or however else thay say in common language.
It feels good even in a coffin so long as you've got a hole in your forehead,
Going belly up, kicking the bucket at rest with fathers, or however else thay say in common language.
But even the eternal fire will burn down,
This sleep is good but still not eternal.
The entrance to the Milky Way is open in the East,
And again the milk runs down your chest, down your lips, and you can't change the meeting place.
The entrance to the Milky Way is open in the East,
And milk again, and you can't change the meeting place.
-2-
If a woman is sober, if a woman is bored,
It's probably hard and cheerless for her to be with us.
But you pour her some wine, you reach for the bottom -
Oh, she'll give you the grain and everything to fire up the stove.
But you pour her some wine, you reach for the bottom -
Oh, she'll give you everything to fire up the stove.
And again you collect your loaf crumb by crumb,
And again drop by drop you spill your blood into boiling water.
The life won't forgive only those who thought ill of it:
A woman only takes revenge for not accepting her love.
The life won't forgive only those who thought ill of it:
A woman only takes revenge for not accepting her love.
So catch this word to begin all your affairs at once,
You're supposed to wrestle everything down again
For the girl called Time to plait fairy tales,
For the boy called Time to shoot his sling.
For the girl called Time to plait fairy tales,
For the boy called Time to shoot his sling.
So that they don't forgive you if you don't understand the game,
If you don't catch the ball and don't even cry yourself to sleep.
If you don't understand, if you don't even sing along,
Then instead of a guitar you'll grab a rattle again.
The rattle rattles, yet it's hollow inside.
It's boring to listen to for a hundredth time, you can have too much even of a fairy tale.
So don't wait until they count up to a hundred,
It's better to hear seven times, to say once,
Or to build,
To cook or to sing, to prove -
But for that, you must feel a message in a tale.
To bind tighter, to bind tighter,
You must feel the resolution is coming soon.
-3-
A wheel track on water. But you can't get
To Wonderland by it, especially light-handed and with smalltalk.
So don't reproach me:
'Why on Earth did you go into the water?'
Of course I'll sing, of course I'll sing,
But I'd rather we sing together.
So don't reproach me:
'Why on Earth did you go into the water?'
Of course I'll sing, of course I'll sing,
But I'd rather we sing together.
For it feels good if the choir strikes up on a high note together with you,
Missing the notes but heartfully and straight to the root, and the roots will get along with the soul.
Is anything wrong?
Everything seems as usual, the same sky is blue again,
But something must be different
If it suddenly felt so good.
But why guess? The sky is high,
Yet the Earth where you're to knead dough is close at hand.
If you erect a cross over Wonderland,
Then you've chosen the best place for the Cross.
If you erect a cross over Wonderland,
Then you've chosen the best place for the Cross.
But our dead won't leave us in danger,
Our fallen are like watchmen on duty.
But the sky is reflected in you and in me,
And in the name of the names, let the alive not leave the alive!
The sky is reflected in you and in me,
And in the name of the names, let the alive not leave the alive!
All in all, there's enough place in the dugout for everyone.
What do we want? Just peace and mercy for our house.
And the hearty laughter storms through the clouds:
'To be or not to be? What's the question if it couldn't've been other way?'
And the hearty laughter storms through the clouds:
'To be or not to be? What's the question if it couldn't've been other way?'
2018.07.15.
A Glass for the Road
Oh, pour a glass for the road and saw up my sack:
A stich on each line and two seams on each word.
And let the wet blizzard wind the thin thread
And knit the hemp yarn making lace.
Read the last rites for the mute, and I'll read them for myself.
Don't have mercy on me, take me down with a blow of a spear.
But look, an ice-hole has broken up on my chest,
A boat has scratched the edges and struggles in the wound.
And the scarlet spring started singing, seething, simmering,
The boat whirled in the cheerful stream.
And I rubbed more salt in, topped it off with a glass of vodka,
Stirred it all and swam in infernal underwear.
So pour a glass for the road and fasten my belt,
[Put] an oar in the wheel to God, the Son and the Spirit.
And let the wet blizzard make a soft bed
And the earth stick my face all over with dirty down.
The coppice along the river is tied up into garlands.
Try wagging your tongue, they'll tear it off together with your head.
The lights will glisten at the last outpost
And the watchman will bar the way with a bayonet.
Give me absolution! I don't remember the prayers,
But if you want, I'll pray with poems.
But explain me, do I love because it hurts
Or does it hurt because I love?
No rein, no saddle, everyone's finished off, everything's burnt to ashes.
But she somehow got the horse ready, and here - it went at a trot.
It doesn't matter that she hasn't found the right man yet,
A lonely woman is always pregnant.
And our truth is simple, but the cross
Made of stray faith in 'save and protect' won't suffice for it,
For the icons in Rus are only good for carrying out.
That's the last sanction. Mow down and bury.
So come on, man, let me in, don't be stupid -
But wait, I think I know you!
The watchman of all times will smile: 'Look!' -
And raise my eyelids with a hot bayonet.
So saw up my sack and pour a glass for the road:
A swallow for each line and two for each word.
And let the wet blizzard shape the white silk,
Wind the thin thread and knit lace.