Bulat Okudzhava
The Circus

This is not a park you visit to relax and meditate.
In a circus one has got to fall and rise, not sit and wait.

Sliding round, round, round right beneath the top
one must not have any doubts, think of something like a flop.

Dressing up for the occasion doesn’t really mean a thing,
our smile is insincere, and it isn’t worth a pin

in the face of purple plumes worn by the horses on the hop,
in the face of daring actors who don’t fear but cherish hope.
Human Hope, you are a creature on the wing, you are so sweet!
Your old holy substance is amazing, beautiful indeed.

Even if we lose all hopes ( or we have never had such things )
you are great at spreading out your amazing magic wings

over circus rings and stages, over fairs, shows and balls,
over horror of spectators and alarm of know-it-alls
you appear as if risen from the dead, alive again,
to the eye of those who fall and rise, — not sit in vain.

Translated by Alec Vagapov