Bulat Okudzhava
What can I do for you, grasshopper, dear...

to Y. Kim

What can I do for you, grasshopper, dear,
when with your song of praise you get ahead?
It cures one of grief, just lend an ear,
just listen, and it will revive the dead.

You touch a string, I wonder how you make it,
so that the chorus suddenly joins in,
mysterious, impassioned, elevated,
concurrent chorus of your kith and kin...

Is it a miracle or mystification,
about to descend from heaven underneath,
that makes you break the secret of confession
backed by the chorus, loudly, with ease?

You, too, belong to the cohort of poets
immortal kinship of creative men...
Keep crying, maybe, your endeavours, poems,
in future won’t be treated with disdain.

I want to praise a poet out loud.
for his insanity and his untiring hand,
he strains his voice, he’ll certainly top out
and come into his own in the end.

Translated by Alec Vagapov