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Poetry

	Victor
	PROFILE About me Friends (3) Poetry (7)

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Victor, 5 october 2013

Hey musician play

Years and milleniums pass
No change in our die-cast
And in usual routine
Flow following at last.
Some exhausted, and some lazy,
Some about bread are crazy,
Over all sounds simple tune.
All discepancies erazing
Hey, musiciian, play, I'll be believing,
That the better a day will come soon
Hey, musiciian, play, doors all leaving
Wde ajar to the future blue moon
lt is not an audience freak,
No French shouts, no Greek.
Missing curtains; and no prompters,
And the scene is narrow street.
Songs and fates and cities scores
That's musicians' en route chores.
And his empty pocket trite
Is the least of mundain woes
Hey, musiciian, play, I'll be believing,
That the better a day will come soon
Hey, musiciian, play, doors all leaving
Wde ajar to the future blue moon
Hey, musiciian, play, I'll be believing,
That the better a day will come soon
Hey, musiciian, play, doors all leaving
Wde ajar to the future blue moon

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number of comments: 0 | rating: 4 | detail

Victor, 26 june 2012

Toast

Each man may drink, if he’s aware
To what, with whom, how much and where.

(My translation of Rasul Gamzatov’s “Toast” (Dagestan, Russia)

number of comments: 1 | rating: 4 | detail

Victor, 21 february 2012

Russified Hamlet

I overlived my time, but was it really mine,
Time stolen from the country less than an age ago?
Oh, brave new world! Big Brother’s watching us
Writhing in slime, in hunger and in pains.
We’re robbed again and spat in our face.
The cycle’s over. End has come to time.
Pigs just like men, Swift’s yahooes, Bosch’s visions –
All in one place. Their name is Legion.
They torture us. The pressure’s reached the crest
I’m wasteable. But what about the rest?

The rest is silence… I’m afraid eternal.

number of comments: 2 | rating: 8 | detail

Victor, 2 february 2012

Ochi chornye

There exists several variants of this famous Russian romance. I chose one of them for translation.

Dark abyss of eyes, oh, what bliss of eyes
Penetrating eyes, and frustrating eyes!
I’m adoring you, I’m afraid of you,
I met your power in an ill hour!
X2

Be that hour cursed, I met you for worst
Dark abyss of eyes, those wistful eyes!
Having not met you I would not abuse
Honest life I loose by the way you choose.

I have one same dream, deep at night I see
And feel happiness is obsessing me
But awake I find only lonely night,
Blank bedside, and what would console my soul.

Dark abyss of eyes, oh, what bliss of eyes
Penetrating eyes, and frustrating eyes!
I’m adoring you, I’m afraid of you,
I met your power in an ill hour!
X2

number of comments: 0 | rating: 10 | detail

Victor, 21 november 2011

Wasted time

Dark night has choked daylight. Day is dead.
It won’t come back to senses any more.
You killed the time again. You must be mad
To waste the only treasure you afford.

Time is for living not for false alarm
About future and the outcome
Of the events that are not bringing harm
Just now. So my old chum

There’s twink anon, so value twink
The future hell is not existing now
And it depends on what you feel and think
Will it take shape or just drop out.

number of comments: 0 | rating: 13 | detail

Victor, 21 november 2011

Poetry

The poetry’s the living creature
That’s nourished by response
She’s timid when you reach her
And ripens when you haunt
Her hiding place. If you besiege her
She’ll leave seclusion and acquire features
Of splendid fairy they vaunt
Of taste and delicacy with admixture
Of fear of the unknown.
But if it happens that the contact breaches
She’ll starve to death in wildwood ditches.