Leonid Martynov
Ballerina

Dry leaves in the gutter rustle,
Horse hooves clatter.
Yardwoman and night patrolman
Pause to chatter

While her daughter pirouettes,
Pigtails flying,
Round the broom and shovel deftly
Whirling, smiling.

Something others miss he sees
In her demeanour:
“Why, with any luck she’ll be
A ballerina!”

Says the mother with a scornful
Matter-of-factness:
“And why not? I also thought
Pd be an actress.”

“Really!” “And it could have happened,”
She’ll acknowledge.
“But there was a snag-I hadn’t
Been to college...”

“Yes, they have to study hard
For that, do children!”
Whereupon he leaves the yard
And goes off whistling.

Orphan schools the mother knew,
When she grew older
Loved, and bore a daughter to
A wartime soldier.

Soldiers — everybody knows —
Get killed in wartime.
Her man stumbled, never rose...
Now in the autumn

As she keeps the pathways neat
She falls to swearing.
Moonbeam slippers on bare feet
Her daughter’s wearing.

Drinking hard, she grows distraught
When under the weather.
...Why, of course she’ll dance, your daughter,
And none better!

Translated by Peter Tempest