Times aren’t what they were like, people feel dislocated,
And the ground underfoot’s not the same, don’t you doubt it.
Was a time with their God people cooperated,
Then they had second thoughts-they would manage without Him.
Granny dearest, you haven’t a body to talk to.
In the crowd, like the poet, you feel isolated.
The left side of the Nevsky’s* not easy to walk to
At this hour of noon for one unsophisticated.
With old age people get to be rather tight-fisted.
Take a tram, all you pay is the tiniest fare —
Seven copecks, and it’ll transport you to Vasilyevsky,**
For ten-it would take you the devil knows where!
I’ve been lately engaged in re-doing my poem,
Here’s the something or other I got for the pleasure.
Take the money, Maria Ivanovna, no problem...
Seven copecks for fare and the rest for good measure.
My friend, you admire the heroic and martial,
You sculpt the inspiring beauty of prowess.
You’ll pardon me, but to old ladies I’m partial.
Believe me though, that’s the sole vice I possess.
___
*Nevsky — Nevsky Avenue, the main street in Leningrad.
**Vasilyevsky — the Vasilyevsky island is part of Leningrad.
Время нынче такое: человек не на месте,
И земля уж, как видно, не та под ногами.
Люди с богом когда-то работали вместе,
А потом отказались: мол, справимся сами.
Дорогая старушка! Побеседовать не с кем вам,
Как поэт, вы от массы прохожих оторваны...
Это очень опасно — в полдень по Невскому
Путешествие с правой на левую сторону...
В старости люди бывают скупее —
Вас трамвай бы за мелочь довез без труда,
Он везет на Васильевский за семь копеек,
А за десять копеек — черт знает куда!
Я стихи свои нынче переделывал заново,
Мне в редакции дали за них мелочишку.
Вот вам деньги. Возьмите, Марья Ивановна!
Семь копеек — проезд, про запасец — излишки...
Товарищ! Певец наступлений и пушек,
Ваятель красных человеческих статуй,
Простите меня, — я жалею старушек,
Но это — единственный мой недостаток.
«Place your palms on my shoulders, / let us embrace, — / only the breath of your lips on my face, / behind us, only the crashing rollers. Our backs like two moonlit shells / are shut together behind us, / we cuddle, observing the quietness, / forming life’s double bond with ourselves...»
«I am Goya / of the bare field, by the enemy’s beak gouged / till the craters of my eyes gape / I am grief I am the tongue / of war, the embers of cities / on the snows of the year 1941 / I am hunger I am the gullet / of a woman hanged whose body like a bell / tolled over a blank ...»
«You will awaken me at dawn / And barefoot lead me to the door; / You’ll not forget me when I’m gone, / You will not see me anymore. Lord, I think, in shielding you / From the cold wind of the open door: / I’ll not forget you when I’m gone, / I shall not see you anymore. The Adm...»
«In a phone-booth, eyes in tears, / Stands a young girl, all distraught, / Hides her face, with lipstick smeared, / Deep into her flimsy coat. Skinny fingers cup her face. / Fingers — sting. And earrings — blaze. All alone she must retreat / Back on down the frozen street. It’s th...»