We present this work in honor of the poet’s 115th birthday.
Arseny Tarkovsky Russian 1907 – 1989
1
I don’t believe in omens or fear Forebodings. I flee from neither slander Nor from poison. Death does not exist. Everyone’s immortal. Everything is too. No point in fearing death at seventeen, Or seventy. There’s only here and now, and light; Neither death, nor darkness, exists. We’re all already on the seashore; I’m one of those who’ll be hauling in the nets When a shoal of immortality swims by.
2
If you live in a house – the house will not fall. I’ll summon any of the centuries, Then enter one and build a house in it. That’s why your children and your wives Sit with me at one table, – The same for ancestor and grandson: The future is being accomplished now, If I raise my hand a little, All five beams of light will stay with you. Each day I used my collar bones For shoring up the past, as though with timber, I measured time with geodetic chains And marched across it, as though it were the Urals.
3
I tailored the age to fit me. We walked to the south, raising dust above the steppe; The tall weeds fumed; the grasshopper danced, Touching its antenna to the horse-shoes – and it prophesied, Threatening me with destruction, like a monk. I strapped my fate to the saddle; And even now, in these coming times, I stand up in the stirrups like a child.
I’m satisfied with deathlessness, For my blood to flow from age to age. Yet for a corner whose warmth I could rely on I’d willingly have given all my life, Whenever her flying needle Tugged me, like a thread, around the globe.
We present this work in honor of the poet’s 155th birthday.
Konstantin Balmont Russian 1867 – 1942
The light will burn and darken, then burn with stronger blaze, But unreturning darkens the sheen of youthful days. Glow then, and be enkindled, the while thou still art young, Let ever more undwindled the heart’s loud chords be strung, That something be remembered in waning years of woe, That chill old-age be lighted by that decayless glow, Born of exalted fancies, and headstrong youth’s ado, Heedless, but full of splendour, heedless and hallowed, too.
We present this work in honor of the 20th anniversary of the poet’s death.
Nika Turbina
Russian
1974 – 2002
Heavy are my verses— Stones uphill. I will carry them up to the crag, The resting place. I will fall face down in the weeds, Tears will not do. I will rend my strophe— The verse will burst out crying. Pain cuts into my palm— Nettles! The day’s bitter taste turns All to words.
When fixed his gaze upon the stone, The artist saw a nymph inside, And fire ran through vein his own – He flew to her in all his heart.
But though full of strong desire, He’s now overcome the spell: The chisel, piecemeal and unhurried, From his high goddess, sanctified, Removes a shell after a shell.
In the sweet and vague preoccupation More than a day or a year will pass; But from the goddess of his passion, The fallen veil will not be last,
Until, perceiving his desire, Under the chisel’s gentle caress, And answering by a gaze of fire, Sweat Galatea brings entire The sage into a first embrace.
We present this work in honor of the 90th anniversary of the poet’s death.
Vera Gedroits
Russian
1870 – 1932
Don’t – no – don’t open your arms Don’t let me out – no words needed. Your kiss is so burning fragrant And, like a tent, our alcove is starless. Another – again – centuries to live out in an instant, Let me die – die with me. The silent night pours the spell of frenzy, Dew ringing on the ground brings heat. Here the star chambers opened wide, In a kiss, merging with one life, Don’t – no – don’t open your arms, Let me die! Die with me!
We present this work in honor of the poet’s 140th birthday.
Korney Chukovsky Russian 1882 – 1969
The telephone rang. “Hello! Who’s there?” “The Polar Bear.” “What do you want?” “I’m calling for the Elephant.” “What does he want?” “He wants a little Peanut brittle.” “Peanut brittle!.. And for whom?”
“It’s for his little Elephant sons.” “How much does he want?” “Oh, five or six tons. Right now that’s all That they can manage — they’re quite small.”
The telephone rang. The Crocodile Said, with a tear, “My dearest dear, We don’t need umbrellas or mackintoshes; My wife and baby need new galoshes; Send us some, please!” “Wait — wasn’t it you Who just last week ordered two Pairs of beautiful brand-new galoshes?”
“Oh, those that came last week — they Got gobbled up right away; And we just can’t wait — For supper tonight We’d like to sprinkle on our goulashes One or two dozen delicious galoshes!” The telephone rang. The Turtle Doves Said: “Send us, please, some long white gloves!”
It rang again; the Chimpanzees Giggled: “Phone books, please!”
The telephone rang. The Grizzly Bear Said: “Grr — Grr!” “Stop, Bear, don’t growl, don’t bawl! Just tell me what you want!” But on he went — “Grr! Grrrrrrr…” Why; what for? I couldn’t make out; I just banged down the receiver.
The telephone rang. The Flamingos Said: “Rush us over a bottle of those Little pink pills!.. We’ve swallowed every frog in the lake, And are croaking with a stomachache!”
The Pig telephoned. Ivan Pigtail Said: “Send over Nina Nightingale! Together, I bet, We’ll sing a duet That opera lovers will never forget! I’ll begin — ” “No, you won’t. The Divine Nightingale Accompany a Pig! Ivan Petrovich, No! You’d better call on Katya Crow!”
The telephone rang. The Polar Bear Said: “Come to the aid of the Walrus, Sir! He’s about to choke on a fat oyster!”
And so it goes. The whole day long The same silly song: Ting-a-ling! Ting-a-ling! Ting-a-ling! A Seal telephones, and then a Gazelle, And just now two very queer Reindeer, Who said: “Oh, dear, oh, dear, Did you hear? Is it true That the Bump-Bump Cars at the Carnival Have all burned up?”
“Are you out of your minds, you silly Deer? The Merry-Go-Round At the Carnival still goes round, And the Bump-Bump Cars are running, too; You ought to go right Out to the Carnival this very night And buzz around in the Bump-Bump Cars And ride the Ferris Wheel up to the stars!”
But they wouldn’t listen, the silly Deer; They just went on: “Oh, dear, oh, dear, Did you hear? Is it true That the Bump-Bump Cars At the Carnival Have all burned up?”
How wrong-headed Reindeer really are!
At five in the morning the telephone rang: The Kangaroo Said: “Hello, Rub-a-dub-dub, How are you?” Which really made me raving mad. “I don’t know any Rub-a-dub-dub, Soapflakes! Pancakes! Bubbledy-bub Why don’t you Try calling Pinhead Zero Two!..” I haven’t slept for three whole nights. I’d really like to go to bed And get some sleep. But every time I lay down my head The telephone rings.
Who’s there — Hello! It’s the Rhino.” “What’s wrong. Rhino?” “Terrible trouble. Come on the double!” “What’s the matter? Why the fuss?” “Quick. Save him .. “Who?” “The hippopotamus. He’s sinking out there in that awful swamp…” “In the swamp?” “Yes, he’s stuck.” “And if you don’t come right away, He’ll drown in that terrible damp And dismal swamp. He’ll die, he’ll croak — oh, oh, oh. Poor Hippo- po- po………..“
“Okay … I’m coming Right away!” Whew: What a job! You need a truck To help a Hippo when he’s stuck!
Poets Corner 