A. Gee Where words collide

Poems

Translation, Echo's Execution, Visotsky

In deep mountain passes where winds wail away unimpeded
and ridges so steep that they haven't been conquered, not once
A mountainous echo lived happily, knowing it's needed
and answered all incoming calls, if but given a chance

When loneliness swells in your throat, makes it harder to swallow
and your stifled groans fall as if to a bottomless pit
The echo will catch them, and treat them as holy and hallow
and amplify them, never failing to send or transmit

What manner of folk, stoned and sated, nor lacking companions
but none heard the snorting of horses and thunder of hooves
They came but to kill and to silence the spirited canyons
The echo was caught, promptly gagged, warned against making moves

The sordid affair, an impromptu but bloody all-nighter
the echo was trampled and tortured and died all alone
It was executed, just shot, with the sky turning brighter
The rocks ricochet from the cliffs, as would tears from a stone

Author notes: В тиши перевала, где скалы ветрам не помеха, На кручах таких, на какие никто не проник, Жило-поживало весёлое горное эхо, Оно отзывалось на крик — человеческий крик. Когда одиночество комом подкатит под горло, И сдавленный стон еле слышно в обрыв упадёт, Крик этот о помощи эхо подхватит проворно, Усилит и бережно в руки своих донесёт. Должно быть, не люди, напившись дурмана и зелья, Чтоб не был услышан никем громкий топот и храп, Пришли умертвить, обеззвучить живое ущелье. И эхо связали, и в рот ему всунули кляп. Всю ночь продолжалась кровавая злая потеха, И эхо топтали, но звука никто не слыхал, К утру расстреляли притихшее горное эхо — И брызнули слёзы, как камни, из раненых скал...

Masterpiece For Sale

You're in the market for a painting?
You cannot beat the one right here!
The Rothkos, they have been maintaining
and even grow... -- don't touch it, dear!
What a sweet child -- as I said, bargain
and best of all, neutral of carbon...
For thirty million or less
the orange DOES go with your dress!
I'll tell you what -- for cash, no sales tax,
shall I have someone write it up?
no, no, dear, this way, that's on top
not that that's any of my beeswax
this masterpiece, one you can flaunt
and hang it any way you want!

Night Mare

A sudden start. I'm on a nearly boundless, moonlit plane.
The grass is swaying, gently bothered by a southern breeze.
The sound of hooves on prairie dust, still beat down by the rain.
I turn to see a night mare, spindly legs and skinny knees.
She motions, snorting, and I jump upon her weathered back,
and she takes off, each leap a mile as fields meld into green.
Soon, heavy clouds obscure the moon and everything turns black.
The night mare's eyes, two glowing embers capturing the scene.
And so we ride, for hours it seems, until the break of light.
What wonders did she take me to I truly couldn't tell.
But I remember, daily, as I get set for the night,
to wish for that same night mare, and to fall under her spell.

Author notes: wc 136

In Bloom (self-translated from English)

the bloom is off the rose, the petals wither
the thorns, though drying, serve to better prick
old age, it surely knows, as birthdays slither
life becomes dying, and the skin less thick

***********************************      *************************
увяла роза, лепестки увяли
шипы, засохнув колятся больней
и старость знает, юбилей замяли
жизнь стала смертью, кожи нет на ней

Author notes: English and Russian image from pinterest