video Denis Brannitsky
poetry Vsevolod Emelin
The spring won’t come again, I know,
Forever autumn there shall be.
My native street, it happened so
That you’re a foreign street to me.
A poor man, I was no flunkey,
Here many a day away I drank,
To see today some khaki monkey
To guard the entrance of a Bank.
Like toadstools in autumn wood,
Which are, of course, no good to eat,
Have grown those banks for common good
On every single Moscow street.
The Israeli dream in truth
Came true – for us it was a shock
To see instead of beer booth
The sleepless windows of Night Shop.
And so in a broken spirit
I stare at vodka, not enticed,
For spirits here, this time I mean it,
At any time are overpriced.
And so, taken by surprise,
I stare at the bottle tags,
Constricted pupils, open eyes,
As if some drug to hell me drags.
To weep my fortune – take my eyes,
My grief with silence swells and swings,
But I can hear in the skies,
As in my brain, the church bell rings.
So I shall ask Almighty God,
Who is my deadly addressee,
For whom, my Christ, the bell has tolled?
Don’t say, because it tolls for me.
My bride for me won’t shed a tear
And it is time to end this shit,
And now, my friends, I say it clear:
This gloomy place I have to quit.
I have a choice: from AIDS to perish,
Or stabbed to death by drunken friends,
Or even more – and this I cherish –
To be run over by a Benz.
You’ll see me lying on a highway,
So young and beautiful, alas,
I took the blows and did it my way,
Don’t cry for me at requiem Mass.
With no regrets, to do me proud,
And absolutely free of charge,
My Mother Earth shall be my shroud
And so at last I’ll go at large.
To hell with you, I am a mourner,
But take my street – I won’t’ cry –
To place night shops on every corner,
Sex shops and banks and churches high.
(trnsl Maria Kozlova)
festival of videopoetry «fifth leg» 2009