Yuri Levitansky
Cinematograph

Early morning in the city. Semi-darkness; semi-light.
First, the sunrays touch the rooftops, then the walls come into sight.
From a little square window, suddenly the light breaks in
With the sounds of piano music. Now a movie will begin.

And the world will come to motion; it will spin, and twirl, and roll
Oh, projectionist, what power you have gained over my soul!
Magic light that cuts through darkness in a crisp and piercing beam
For the next two precious hours makes me laugh, or cry, or dream.
I am taken by the story, with its twists, romances, fights...

Oh, my life, a spinning reel, moving pictures black and white!
Who is the genius director that could all these pieces weave
Through his script into the marvel of fantastic make-believe?
His free spirit is not bound; in his brilliant foresight
He united joy and sorrow, devastation and delight!
He will not forgive an actress if her part is lamely played —
Be it comedy or tragedy, a monarch or a maid.
Oh, how hard, yet how exciting acting is among the cast
In the fascinating narrative, unfolding very fast —
From beginning to its ending — just two hours a night!

Oh, my life, a spinning reel, moving pictures black and white!
For a while, I fail to notice that your spell is giving ground
To the glamour of the color, to the power of the sound.
Still, your muteness is so noisy that the silence can be heard
Through your captivating gestures, telling more than any word.
Your mute actors are still rushing with their faces deadly pale
Down their cheeks black tears are rolling on their fancy tux and tails.
And I do believe their tears; I am sharing in their plight...

Oh, my life, a spinning reel, moving pictures black and white!
Sound and color are newcomers, and it takes you quite a while
To adapt these young intruders to your artistry and style.
First, your sound is harsh and crackling; and the voices aren’t in sync;
Sometimes sunsets are too purple. Sometimes faces are too pink.
And the blood from fatal bullets looks too black upon the stage...

Oh, the early days of movies and my bygone early age!
Subtle colors, complex sounds will appear in due time,
With the freedom of expression that comes only in one’s prime
The maturity of masters, in its turn, will be surpassed.
It would seem naïve and childish to the ones who after us
Will be struggling, rising, falling, carrying life to the extreme...

Oh, my life in sound and color! Oh, the power of wide screen!
Sitting in the quiet darkness, in a front or middle row,
An old fan, I love the moment when the screen begins to glow.
I’m engaged in this big drama; I contribute to the plot,
With my role in every sequence that has fallen to my lot.

I am not in camera focus, not an actor, but in fact,
Being outside film “action”, in itself is still an act.
As the story is evolving, in its content and its theme
My own life is also flowing, year by year and scene by scene.
Like the threads in complex fabrics, both are woven into one
And, to my regret, this pattern cannot ever be undone.
For our given roles are constant; be it Genius or a Dunce
No retakes in life’s true stories; we are playing only once.
I’m laughing and I’m crying over my predestined role
And I wish to blend my present and my past into a whole
With the flashes of the moment and those captured in hindsight,

Oh, my life, a spinning reel, moving pictures black and white!

Translated by Olga Dumer