White Waltz

O what a ball! Intensity of movement, nerves and sound!   

The hearts were beating in three beats and not in twain.      

 And ladies were inviting gentlemen        

To a traditional white waltz - and took the breath away.          

And you, that dance with sorrow together,        

Decided to invite that one girl long ago -       

But you must always leave to go somewhere -        

To help somebody or to ready for a war.          

And all, still closer, the more real it becomes,        

She, one with whom you had intended to come in,        

She comes in order to invite you to the waltz -        

And in your temple blood was pounding.         

Externally calm in a ball full of noise,       

 You're given away by the shadow of yours -        

She tore, and broke, and trembled in blurry light, as you spun.        

Held gently by the hand, and whirling her like mad,        

And you could have put her across a knife's blade        

So why do you stand, crossing arms, not your own and no one's?          

It was white waltz - the end to doubts of unbelievers      

  And end of childhood consolations, dreams and games -       

 Today the ladies were inviting cavaliers      

  And not because the latter weren't brave.       

 The ladies are called forth in time of ball      

 And waltz spins heads around, like long before.        

But we must always answer someone's call -        

To help somebody or get ready for a war.         

Whiter than snow is the white waltz, spin now, strive!      

  That snow does not get interrupted as it falls!       

 She came in order to invite you to a life -      

  And you were white - whiter than walls, whiter than waltz!          

Wherever you were - in the lyceum, in the tavern -        

In palace halls, in school - whatever luck despite -       

 In Russia ladies were inviting gentlemen        

In every age to the white waltz, and all was white.          

Dulling the sight, not looking to each side,        

Through the despair, silence, quiet, resignation,       

 The women hurried to come to our aid -        

Their hall - the size of the entire nation.          

Where you will go, wherever you will fly        

Recall the waltz - how you were white - and smile, you'll learn:       

 They'll wait forever - and from sea and from the sky -        

They will invite you to white waltz when you return.

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We Are Turning the Earth

From the border we once had been turning Earth back - 

That was so at first, no denying. 

But our colonel turned it again in its track, 

Pushing with his foot off Ural mountains.  

At long last we were given the order: Advance, 

Take back all our fields and our forests, 

But remember we well, how the sun turned apace 

And went down on the East almost.  

We dont' measure the Earth with our footsteps, 

Bothering all the flowers in vain, 

We are pushing it with our boots, so - 

From ourselves, from ourselves.  

And to wind from the East have bent down stacks of hay, 

Against mountains the flock is pressing. 

Without lever the axis of Earth we have changed, 

Having altered the war's direction.  

Do not fear when the sunrise is not in place: 

Judgment day - is a tale for the former. 

Our batallions turn the earth as they may, 

And wherever they wish to go.  

We are crawling, hugging the hillsides, 

Tearing tussosks with anger, with hate, 

And we're pushing the Earth with our knees, so - 

From ourselves, from ourselves.  

Here nobody will find, even if he so wants, 

Those who lift their hands in surrender. 

To the living - there is a use for the corpse: 

We are using the dead to defend us.  

This dumb lead, will it find everyone at same time, 

Where it reaches - in face or behind you? 

Someone fell ahead of us on a mine And 

the earth for a moment stood silent.  

I have left my feet right behind me, 

Momentarily mourning the dead, 

And the earth I turn with my elbows - 

From myself, from myself.  

Someone stood in full height and took the fall -

 Right in chest, after giving a bow. 

Only westward, westward, batallion crawls, 

That the sun does not set in the East now.  

With the belly on dirt, smelling rot from the swamps, 

Closing eyes to the stench, moving forward. 

Now the sun on horison normally goes, 

For this reason: We're tearing westward!  

Hands and legs - there in place, or torn out -  

Tasting dew like at wedding - ahead! 

We are dragging the earth by the stems now - 

Toward ourselves, toward ourselves!

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Unfinished Flight

Someone saw the fruit, that could not get ripe 

They shook the trunk - it fell, just so... 

Here's the song of him who did not finish his song 

And that he had a voice - he did not know.   

Perhaps he was not on good terms with fate,  

And on bad terms with circumstance. 

And the tight string lay on a fret 

That was broken in single place.   

He started shyly with first note 

But did not finish it, did not.. 

His music was incomplete 

Did not make anyone's soul rise.. 

The dog kept barking, and the cat 

Was hunting mice.   

It's funny! Funny, yes it is! It is. 

But he made jokes - they didn't impress, 

He did not finish tasting wine 

Did not even touch it to his face.  

While he started the argument 

Unhurried and uncertain  

Just like, on forehead, drops of sweat 

The soul had shimmered through his skin.   

He began the duel on the rug, 

Barely, barely he began. 

The judge did not open the score. 

And little he saw of the game.  

He sought to know all of it, 

But did not reach, did not... 

Not till the riddle, not the root, 

He did not dig until the deep, 

And her, that is still by herself, 

He did not finish loving!   

It's funny! Funny, yes it is! It is. 

And he had hurried - all for none. 

And all that he did not resolve 

Was not resolved by anyone.   

Not with single word do I lie - 

He served the pure word, poetry. 

And he wrote poems on the snow - 

But snows melt beneath the trees.   

But the snow was falling then 

And the freedom to write on the snow. 

And the big snowflakes and hail 

He touched with his lips as he ran, so.   

But her, the one in silver necklace 

He did not reach, not at his pace... 

Did not reach goal, the runner he, 

Not finished flight, it was in vain, 

And sign beneath which he was born 

Was licking cold Milky Way.   

It's funny! Funny, yes it is! It is 

When seconds do not reach the light - 

The sound that does not reach the end - 

Unfinished flight, unfinished flight.   

It's funny? Funny, well, it's so - 

Funny to you, even to me. 

The horse that jumps and bird that flies - 

And whose fault could it be?

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Uncontrollable Horses

By the edge, near the precipice, at the very limit, 

I am beating at my horses with my arm, a whiplash in it. 

I'm not getting enough air - drinking wind, the fog imbibing, 

And I scent with deadly rapture: I am dying, I am dying!  

Just a little slower, horses, little slower now! 

Do not listen to the taut whip, it is wrong! 

But my horses are uncontrollable 

I can't live to the end, I can't finish my song.  

I will let horses drink - the couplet I will sing 

For a little bit more I will stand on the brink...  

I will vanish - like a feather by the wind I will be blown, 

In the morning they will drag me in the sleigh through the snow, 

O my horses, walk some slower, show a bit of moderation 

Just a little bit, prolong my way to final destination!   

Just a little slower, horses, little slower now! 

Do not listen to the taut whip, it is wrong! 

But my horses are uncontrollable 

I can't live to the end, I can't finish my song.  

I will let horses drink - the couplet I will sing 

For a little bit more I will stand on the brink...  

We've arrived: nobody comes late here to greet the Lord of Heaven -

 Then, why do the angels sing with voices evil, voices heavy? 

Or the bell would shake from weeping, weeping gently, weeping deeply, 

Or I'm shouting to the horses that they do not run so quickly?   

Just a little slower, horses, little slower now! 

I pray to you don't gallop along! 

But my horses are uncontrollable 

I can't live to the end, I can't finish my song.  

I will let horses drink - the couplet I will sing 

For a little bit more I will stand on the brink...

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Cupolas

How I'll see it now, how I'll breathe it in? 

Air is tight before the lightning, tight and choking. 

How I'll hear it all today, oh how I will sing. 

From the fairy tales the prophet birds are singing.   

The bird Sirin is happily grinning, 

Having fun, calling from nests. 

And against him is now despairing, 

Wounds the soul the strange Alkonost.   

Just like seven promised strings 

Ring again then stop - 

This is the bird Gamayun 

Imparting hope!   

In the blue sky, bleeding with belltowers, 

Copper bell, copper bell, 

Will be joyful or will be sore. 

Russian cupolas are covered in pure gold 

That the good Lord will glimpse at them more.   

I stand, like before a timeless mystery, 

Before great and fairy-tale country. 

Before salty bitter sweet and sour land 

Blue, spring-water, and full of rye.   

Squelching dirt fat till the rust, 

Horses go down till stirrup, 

But they pull me with sleepy great power 

That has soured and bloated from sleep.   

And the seven wealthy moons 

Interfere with my step. 

It is the bird Gamayun 

Imparting hope!    

The soul, beaten with losses and sorrows, 

The soul, tattered with horror, 

If till blood the cloth has been worn, 

I will gild with the golden glitter 

That the good Lord will glimpse at it more.

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Mountain Echo

In the quiet valley where rocks do not stand in the way of the windstorm 

In such places that no one got there or will get again 

There joyfully lived a happy mountain echo 

It answered the cry of mankind - yes it answered the cry of the man.  

When loneliness comes up to throat as if with a stone 

And moan once suppressed falls into the crevasse in the land 

The echo would take up this cry that comes out of the throat 

Augment manifold and then gently lift up in its hand.  

Perhaps it was people, made drunk on a horrible potion  

In order that no one would hear their stomping and shouts 

Came over to kill, to make soundless the mountain valley 

And they tied the echo and they placed a gag in its mouth.  

All night they continued the bloody and cruel amusement 

And nobody heard but a sound as on it people walked 

In morning they shot in the face the quiescent mountain echo 

And stones just like teardrops burst from the wounded rock.

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Microphone

I'm in the light, open to every eye - 

I do as I do often; like an icon 

I come up to a microphone; today 

It's more like I'm approaching a cannon.  

And I will not rub against the microphone 

Yes, my voice is loathsome to any 

Yes, I know, if a lie comes on 

It will augment it surely without pity.  

Rays beneath the lamp on ribs assail me 

Lamps shimmer into the face unkindly 

And from every side projectors beat 

And the heat! The heat! The heat!  

Today I rant again without control, 

But in the tone I don't risk making change - 

For if I make a turn inside the soul 

It will correct the curve with rage.   

It's thinner than a blade of knife, this beast,  

The flawless hearing, it hears lies till the iota - 

It does not care I don't fit in the beat  

But that I more completely sing the notes!  

Rays beneath the lamp on ribs assail me 

Lamps shimmer into the face unkindly 

And from every side projectors beat 

And the heat! The heat! The heat!  

Upon the supple neck this microphone 

Is rolling with its snake head; 

If I get silent - it will sting 

I have to sing - till stupor, till the end.  

Don't move, don't touch, don't dare! 

I saw the sting - you are a snake, I know! 

And I am like a charmer of a snake 

Not singing, putting spell upon a cobra!  

Rays beneath the lamp on ribs assail me 

Lamps shimmer into the face unkindly 

And from every side projectors beat 

And the heat! The heat! The heat!  

It wants to eat, and with a birdling's greed  

It takes the sounds out of the mouth, 

In forehead it will put nine grams of lead 

I won't raise the hands - the guitar binds them!  

Again it will not reach the end! 

What is this microphone - who will respond! 

Today it is like lamp against the face, 

But I'm not holy, and there's no light from the microphone.  

My melodies are simpler than the scales 

But barely beating from a sure tone - 

I am sickly beaten on the face 

By an immobile shade of microphone  

Rays beneath the lamp on ribs assail me 

Lamps shimmer into the face unkindly 

And from every side projectors beat 

And the heat! The heat! The heat!

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Antisemites

Rather than be a vandal and bandit, 

I'd like to apply to be antisemite, 

On their side, though laws are missing, 

Is support and fervor of millions of people.  

I've chosen, and that means to beat up somebody, 

But I need to know who are all these semites, 

And maybe they are after all decent people,  

And maybe from them I can get into trouble.  

But teacher and friend, alcoholic and grocer, 

Has said that semites are Jews, nothing more, and 

It is such a great luck, brothers dear, 

I am now calm, there is nothing to fear.  

I've kept myself strong, and with high admiration 

I have in my life viewed Albert Einstein, 

People will forgive, but I ask, unwilling, 

How am I to view Abraham Lincoln.  

Among them is Capler, whom Stalin made suffer, 

Among them is Chaplin, respected by me, 

My friend Rabinovich and victims of Nazism, 

And even the very founder of Marxism.  

But alkie told me after this conversation 

That they drink the blood of the Christian babies, 

And then at the pub the fellows told 

That they crucified God a long time ago.  

They suck people's blood, and by mistake

They tortured, damn creeps, a zoo elephant, 

And I know, they stole from the people 

Bread crop from the last year completely.  

And alongside the Russian railroads 

They've built houses and live there like gods. 

I'm ready for violence, and in righteous passion 

I'm beating up kikes and am saving Russia.

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Ballad about Love

When waters of a flood that swept the planet 

Returned once more into the ocean bed 

From foam of a departing ocean current 

Love climbed so quietly upon the land 

And disappeared in air before its time - 

And for it there are sixteen hundred times.  

And some strange people - there are some such yet - 

Inhale this mix with full chest that is heaving 

Reward and punishment they don't await 

And thinking that they are only but breathing 

They do appear to breathe, or so it's seeming, 

Unevenly, unevenly, at that.  

Only sense, just like a river boat, 

For so long, so long remains afloat, 

For before I know that "I love" - 

That is, that I breathe, or that I live!  

And there will be enough wanderings and travels 

Land of love - such a great land it is! 

And it will be asking for ordeals 

From its knights, before they can have bliss. 

It will ask departures and despair 

And deprive of calm, of sleep and peace...  

But you cannot drive off the insane 

From this land, they do agree to pay 

Any price - their life if that is called - 

Just so not to cut, to keep instead 

The magical invisible thread 

That is woven in between their souls....  

The fresh air intoxicated them, 

Knocked them from their feet, raised up again, 

For if I had never ever loved - 

I'd have never breathed, have never lived!  

But the many that are choking on their love - 

You won't reach, however you may shout... 

Counted by prayer and empty word. 

But this count has been mixed in blood. 

And we will place candles at the head 

Of ones dead from the unknown love.  

Their voices have to morph in single one  

Their souls must wander in between the flowers 

To breathe with the eternity at one  

To meet each other sighing in some hour 

Upon the fragile bridges and roads 

Upon the narrow crossroads of the world...  

I will lay the fields for those in love, 

Sleeping or awake, just let them sing! 

I am breathing - therefore, I love! 

I'm in love - and therefore, I live!

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Others Will Finish

My beloved fiancee will weep for my passing, 

And my friends will pay off all my debts, 

Other all the songs will keep on singing, 

And my foes may toast me perhaps.  

I don't get good reading any longer 

My guitar is broken, out of tune, 

And I can't go higher and I can't go lower 

And I can't have sunlight or the moon.  

I can't free myself - don't get a right to - 

Only wall and door and in between 

I cannot turn leftwards and I can't turn rightwards 

Only just the piece of the sky, only just the dreams.  

Dreams of how they'll free me, of how I will exit, 

How they'll give my guitar back to me 

Who will meet me there, how they will embrace me 

And what kind of songs they'll sing to me.

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Storks

It is clear and blue, sky today 

But now metal does clang, clang away

, And there's humming all over our land  

And they trees are in soot - they are sad. 

Just like crosses the smoke and ash stand,  

On the rooftops the storks don't make nests.   

Amber-colored chaff, will it stand? 

No! We sowed it all, all in vain. 

With what amber light is field filled? 

This is wildfire that runs through the field. 

Everyone from the woes came apart. 

There are no singing birds - ravens just.   

And the trees are in dust - in this fall 

And those who could still sing - stopped it all. 

And love is not for us. Don't you know? 

What do we need the most? Hatred. So, 

Just like crosses the smoke and ash stand,  

On the rooftops the storks don't make nests.

Canopies now make sound in the forest,  

But through water and land run the moans. 

But there are no miracles - the trees 

Are screaming with double screams. 

They have gone to the east from the woes, 

There are no singing birds, there are no storks.  

The air can hold many sounds, 

But now in it the metal resounds. 

There is sound of the hoofs - tiredly, 

If somebody would shout - quietly. 

They have gone to the east from the woes, 

And above the rooftops there are no storks.

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Hunt on Wolves

With all strength, with all legs, I am running  

But today's just like yesterday.  

They've surrounded me in a blockade  

They are chasing me with great joy.   

From the fir trees the rifles are firing -  

There the hunters are aiming at shade.  

On the snow the wolves are curling,  

Having turn into living aim.   

There is a hunt upon the wolves, there is a hunt on,  

On the grey predators, of every age.  

The hunters shout, and dogs bark till they throw up,  

There's blood upon the snow and the red flags.   

They're not giving us equal treatment.  

But the arm does not touch, does not turn!  

Having bounded with flags their freedom  

They are shooting determinedly on.   

The wolf cannot violate his tradition.  

As blind pups, as just little babes,  

We the wolf-pups were sucking the she-wolf  

And sucked in: Cannot go beyond flags.   

Our legs and jaws move very quickly.  

Why then - chieftain, answer us will you please -  

Do we rush to the shot in a trauma  

And cannot do otherwise?   

The wolf must not, he cannot, do elsewise.  

It's about the end of my time.  

He, who's bound to kill me  

Smiled and lifted the gun to his eye.   

I have come out of guilt, out of fear,  

Beyond flags - will to live is more strong -  

And behind me with joy I can hear  

The astounded shouts of the throng.   

With all strength, with all legs, I am running  

But today's not like yesterday.  

They've surrounded me in a blockade

But the hunters got nothing today. 

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Bath

Make a bath for me, hostess, a bath for me,  

I will get warm in it, I'll get hot.  

In the bath, by the very edge of it,  

I will surely extinguish my doubt.    

I'll get good to the point of indecency,  

The cold stream - everything's left behind.  

And the left chest will get blue infernally  

With the cult of personality's pin.    

Make a bath for me, hostess, a bath for me,  

I'm no longer used to the light.  

I will get hot, and when I get hot again,  

The hot steam will my tongue untie .  

How much faith, how much forest, has fallen down

,  How much, seen of the woe and the loss,  

On the left chest is profile of Stalin,  

On the right is my Marina's face.   

How much time I'm residing in paradise  

For my endless faith that God may bless -  

For the life that does not have a light in it  

I have traded my own foolishness.   

Make a bath for me, hostess, a bath for me,  

I'm no longer used to the light.  

I will get hot, and when I get hot again, 

The hot steam will my tongue untie .

I remember as in early morning light  

I asked brother of mine: "Help me please!"  

And from Siberia to Siberia  

Handsome guards took me to keep the peace.   

And then either on cliffs or in valley,  

Having drunk of the water and tears,  

Close to heart we put needles in profiles  

That he'd listen to tearing of hearts.   

Make a bath for me, hostess, a bath for me,  

I'm no longer used to the light.  

I will get hot, and when I get hot again, 

The hot steam will my tongue untie . 

Oh he envies the story till dizziness  

Steam dispelled all the broodings somehow.  

From the cold fog of the past times  

They dip into the hot fog of now.   

My thoughts knock on me under head  

It has happened in vain I see them  

And I beat with birch branches instead  

On inheritance of the past time.   

Make a bath for me, hostess, a bath for me,  

I'm no longer used to the light.  

I will get hot, and when I get hot again, 

The hot steam will my tongue untie .

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Ships

Ships will dock for a while and set out on high seas,  

Ships will dock for a while - and through storms and through fear  

They will lay once again on the course without cease 

To return once again in half year.  

All return but the best and most loyal of friends, 

All return but the most devoted ladies, 

All return but the ones on whom heart most depends 

I have no trust in fate, in myself even less faith.  

But I’d like to believe that this is not the end, 

That someday we'll no longer burn ships in despair. 

I of course will return - full of deeds full of friends 

I of course will return - it won't be half a year.

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In The Sleep - Yellow Lights

In the sleep – yellow lights,

And in sleep I’m ranting:

In the time, in the time,

Morning is the better.

But in morning not as it should,

There’s no such a merriment:

Either you smoke with no food,

Or drink from the hangover.

In taverns – the damask green

And the white napkins.

Heaven is for beggars and buffoons

I’m like a caged bird!

In the church twilight and stench,

Deacon smoking incense.

No! It’s not right in the church,

Not like it should be.

I’m – in hurry on the mountain,

That would come out nothing.

And on the mountain alder stands,

And under mountain cherry.

And if to twine with ivy hill,

This to me comfort,

Although something else still.

All’s not as it should be!

I’m along river, in the field.

Light – dark, there’s no God!

And the cornflowers in clean field,

The distant road.

Along the road – the dense wood,

With Baba-Yagas,

And in the end of that road –

Scaffold with the axes.

Somewhere the horses dance in tact,

Reluctantly and smoothly.

Along the road not as it must,

And in end – all the more.

And not church, and not the pub –

Nothing is holy.

No, fellows, all is not as must,

All’s not as it should be.

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