בשמיים תמיד הכל שקט. תמיד יש הרגשה של מציאות חלופית. אין דאגות, יש רק שלווה. 
אני הענק שצועד במיים של השמיים. הכתמים הלבנים הם הקצף של הגלים. המיים שקופים ואפשר לראות את הקרקע. 
עוד מעט נגיע 
וארמון קטן 
לא יכולתי להסיר את עיני מהחלון. המפגש הראשון אחרי כמה עשרות שנים. 
ראיתי את הפרברים ואת המפעלים, הארובות ומייד נזכרתי בראיון עם יוסף ברודסקי איפה שהוא מספר על הנוף של פטרבורג אין לי ספר באנגלית, אז תירגום שלי מהמקור ברוסית For me Piter is all palaces and canals. But of course, my childhood predisposed me to an acute perception of industrial landscape I remember the feeling of this vast space: open, filled with not very significant but still protruding structures. Yes, the pipes, the new construction that has just been started, the chemical plant. All this poetic of modern times. (...) I have always been fascinated by industrial landscape In Leningrad it is a kind of antithesis to the center. Indeed, in Leningrad topography there is a huge discrepancy between the center and outskirts.. And suddenly I realized that suburbs - they are the beginning of the world, not its end. This is the end of of the familiar world and the beginning of the unusual one, which is far bigger, vaster. And the idea was basically this: leaving for the suburbs, you are moving away from anything in the world and go out into the reality (...) For me the most powerful impressions of my childhood and youth are associated with this unusual sky and some idea of infinity. And when you see this perspective it makes you completely insane. Here, again I am visiting this terrain of love, this peninsula of facroties paradise of workshops, manufacturing Arcadia heaven of river boats. I am whispering: Here, again I am in the Lares and Penates of my childhood 
...and my miserable attempt to translate one of Brodsky's poems about StPetersburg. No rhyme and rhythm, but at least something. Here, again I am visiting
this terrain of love, this peninsula of facroties
paradise of workshops, manufacturing Arcadia
heaven of river boats.
I am whispering:
Here, again I am in the Lares and Penates of my childhood
running through thousands arches of Okhotny Prostrated with its black-coal smoke
The river is in front of me
A tram behind my back
is rattling on an undamaged bridge
And the despair of brick fences
has suddenly consoled
Hello, here we have meet, my destitute youth Suburbian jazz is greeting us
Do you hear the trumpets of the city's outskirts
golden dixieland
wearing black caps - wonderful, charming
neither somebody's soul and nor flesh -
a shadow over the dear gramophone
as if your dress has been casted up by the saxophone In a coat and with a bright red scarf
you are standing in gateways and at the entrances
in full sight
on the bridge near the irrevocable years
holding a half-finished glass of lemonade against your face
and a factory pipe roaring behind you Hello. What a meeting.
you are so aethereal: a new sunset nearby is hunting fiery canvasses
you are so poor. so many years have passed, all in vain
Hello, my youth. My God, you are so beautiful. In silence greyhounds are sweeping
over frozen hills.
Among red swamps
train horns are emanating.
Disappearing into the fumes of the forests
taxies are flying into empty roads
and aspens are looking into skies. This is our winter.
A contemporary street lamp is gazing with its dead eye.
Thousands of windows are blinding me with their lights
I am razing my scream
so that it wouldn't collide with the buildings
Our winter is failing to return Till death us part, but no
we won't obtain it, we are not finding it.
From the moment we see this world
we are going somewhere
as if somebody far away
is playing a beautiful tune among the new buildings.
We are scattered, gathered only by the call of death. So, it means there are no goodbyes
Only an enormous meeting exists
So, it means somebody is embracing us, holding our shoulders in darkness
And full of this darkness
Full of this darkness and peace
We are standing together over a cold sparkling river So easy to breathe
because like a flower
we become shadows and lights in somebody else's life.
or even more so -
just because we are doomed to lose everything
with our farewell forever
we become death and heaven. Here I am, passing by the same bright Eden
from the tram stop to the left
and a new Eve is running in front of me
covering herself with her palms
a bright-red Adam
appears in the distant archways
and the Neva wind is chiming dolefully
in hanging harps Oh, impetuous life,
black and white paradise of new buildings.
Twining serpent
and the epical silent sky
Immobile ice mounted
shining near the fountain
morning snow is winding and cars are dashing restlessly Could it be not me
lit by three street lamps
so many years in darkness
running over glass shatters through waste-grounds
with the sky radiance
clouding at the crane?
Could it be not me? Something has definitely changed here Somebody new is reigning here:
anonymous, magnificent and all-migty.
Burning, spreading over the country is dark-blue light
and the street lamps are swishing in the eyes of greyhounds -
flower by flower somebody is eternally walking by the new buildings, all alone So, it means there are no goodbyes
So, it means we were asking for for forgiveness in vain
So, it means there is no way back for the winter
Only one thing is left:
Walk this world carefree
It's impossible to fall behind. We can only overtake. The place we are hurrying to,
this hell or this heaven
or simply obscurity,
mirk, all this is uncertain.
our dearest country,
the subject of constant praise,
isn't it love? No, it doesn't have any name. This is eternal life:
the impressive bridge, the incessant word,
barges passing by,
love revived, the past killed,
lights of river boats
glow of shop windows, tram tinkling,
splashes of cold water by your ever wide trousers. Congratulations to me on this early finding, on you,
congratulations to me on my amazingly grievous destiny
on this eternal river,
on this sky framed by the beautiful aspens
on the descriptive list of misfortunes behind the speechless crowd of shops Not living here, Not dead, simply a mediator,
absolutely alone,
you are screaming about yourself in the end
you didn't recognize anybody,
forgot, deceived yourself
Thank God, it's winter. So, it means I haven't returned anywhere. Thank God, I am a stranger.
I don't blame anybody.
Nothing is recognizable.
I am hurriedly walking, overtaking when possible.
Floating now
because I haven't parted with anyone.
Thank God I I have no native land in this world Congratulations to me.
However long I live, I don't need anything.
However long I live I'll donate for a glass of lemonade.
No matter how many times I come back -
But I'll never come back, as if I am locking my house,
I'll give anything for the sorrow of the brick pipe and dogs' barking. |