Mikhail Svetlov
Rostov

It’s nice, if a bit slow,
This city of Rostov.
Main streets here bear the names
Of soldiers of great fame.
So restless, day and night
Its Garden Street’s packed tight.
But sidestreets stand quite still
With sound of poetry filled,
And that was why I thought
The people a likeable lot.

Here, stuck on every wall,
The posters loudly call
On citizens to do
All sorts of things: «Those who
Are young in soul, subscribe
To Hammer! It’s your type
Of paper!» Now I stare
At posters over there:
«Recital in Rostov —
Sholokhov and Svetlov!»

In Rostov, the tramline
Is very much alive.
Trams run at breakneck speed —
Aksai* to Garden Street
And farther out, even:
Rostov to Nakhichevan.
This town, its past so grand,
Now has but few sedans,
Few bureaucrats. Instead —
Much socialism per head.

It’s nice, if somewhat slow,
This city of Rostov.
There lives a girl named Bela...
(None of your business, fellahs).
Streetlamps throw shade and light
Like fires in the night
That memorable year,
The height of Civil War.
And through the restless town
Quietly flows the Don...

___
*Aksai — a large works in Rostov-on-Don

Translated by S. Roy