Georgy Adamovich
Oh when will we go back to Russia...

Oh when will we go back to Russia? Oh, Hamlet of east, tell me when.
In fog and on foot we will travel, a blistering cold there’ll be then,
It won’t be triumphal, with horses, on foot we will go – no acclaim,
But you may be sure, I can promise, we’ll get to the end, all the same.

The hospital. When we’re in Russia… A fever it flickers from glee,
As if they were playing “Kol’ Slaven” in garden adjoining the sea,
As if through white walls were diffusing, in gloom of the frosty small hours
The light from the flickering candles in somnolent Kremlin’s frost towers.

Oh when will… A bellyful I’ve had! I’m washed out, exhausted and stripped.
Above us the tricolour’s flapping, the beggarly flag has me gripped,
And clings here the odour of ether, it’s stuffy, I’m covered with sweat.
Oh when will we go back to Russia… with snow it is blanketed yet.

It’s time to get ready. It’s daybreak. It’s time I abandoned my rest.
On eyelids two coins made of copper. And arms in a cross on the breast.

Translated by Rupert Moreton