Нет, любезный родич... 2015
Translated by Alexei Minayev © 2016
* * *
No, beloved kinsman, we're not bored —
We pay taxes, in exact amounts,
Go out to church and reel around,
Put the things we find, inside the drawers.
Market fears being overrated,
All is tableful and housewarming,
Valetry has taken noble lairs,
Attic dwellers are now underground.
Title of a district was awarded
To my neck of woods, before the holiday.
Cheers, fanfares, among the furbished fir-trees
Our town is now declared a city.
Who becomes the landlord in this flurry?
Where can undeground get the fury,
So they can convict, in proper measures
Those men who weren't trusted, ever?
Here, even you would hit a road block,
So, of course, I don't mean to say that
Nails are not in place, or teeth are broken,
I just say by no means it's boring.
It's the only sore thing to hear
Howls in the dark, so thick and clear.
After which the rumors spread through town —
Whispering it's not just wolve's howl.
Darkness isn't new, but fret the meaning —
Not for everyone it is to mingle.
Some of us already couldn't bear —
Took the stuff and moved away, forever
After them, to keep our voices clear,
Like a descant at the time of duel
We no longer sing "oh, where, where?"
Even if we knew the place, we wouldn't sing.
Places are so scarce today that don't
Fly a proud shadow of a former town.
No chance, no odds, the game is over,
Nowhere to run, but just away for now.
Our former Chief's again a chair
Glad he stroke a deal with no jail time.
Like a shot, he made elected mayor,
We elected him, who else would care?
Born and raised, baptised in church and married,
Not a wrinkle on his spotless flyer.
Some of us are now dead and buried,
Others, like myself, are still surviving chills.
Living, means we're cold, that means we're living,
Tearing books and burning files instead of coal.
Dictionary was so plump but now it's
Turned to ash and embers to the letter "O".
Yet there is a party and a concert,
Looks like they are serving tea and dessert
In the mayor's booth, but with his high hand
Chosen one repudiates the viand.
Now he won't dine, afraid of poison,
So the dish obediently follows,
Those moans from stage "oh where, where?"
Which I meant to say it's never boring, no.
Grow some teeth or sharpen someone's pencils,
Still our village won't make a city, no.
Never know who's poisoned at the party
Even if they were decapitated, no.
Let me put our city's new zipcode
In the brackets there for you, beloved
Kinsman, please remember every letter
No faster albeit than you get it.
Mail comes slow, and you should curb your hope —
Estimate delivery a year,
Even in an open envelope,
Censorship takes time, correction, this and that.