No one to blame now for my lot - I groan and weep: In someone else’s rut I got, it’s very deep. I used to pick and choose my goals, I felt so proud, And in this rut, it’s just no go - no getting out. It has such slippery and steep Rough edges, and it is so deep. I am cursing those who made this rut, I’m afraid I shall soon burst a gut, I’m declining the noun, like a nut: "Of the rut, to the rut, by the rut..." I wonder why I can’t stay put such cockiness. Conditions in the rut are good - well, more or less. No one will slap you down, no fear - no fear at all! And if you want a nice career - get on the ball! The folks are always nice and fat, Quite comfortable in the rut, And I quickly convinced myself that We are all in the same cosy rut. Steady, mate, as you go: wheel to wheel - You’ll end up where everyone will. Then someone shouted boiling mad, "Make way, you there!" And he began to fight the rut, the crazy bear. He burnt in argument his whole tank of goodwill. Phut went the inserts of his soul - snap went the wheel! And still, the silly ass fought hard, It’s wider now, the bloody rut. Soon we see that his track is cut short - Someone’s booted the crank off the road. And indeed, who was he to obstruct Heavy traffic in that good old rut? My turn to fret, the cooler’s dead, it will not cool. No driving, this - it’s blood and sweat, it’s push and pull. I mean, I should get out and push - I really ought, But other stragglers in the slush may pull me out. I wait and wait for help in vain. "This rut’s all wrong", I think again. How I’d like to spit slush, slime and muck In this alien rut’s stupid mug - I dug deeper, and got firmly stuck, And killed all hope for those at the back. I felt myself break out in sweat, now cold, now hot. And I went gingerly ahead along a board. Just look, the rut’s been washed away by springtime floods, We’re saved at last - there is a way out of this rut! My wheels kept spitting viscous mud - To hell with this ungodly rut! Listen you, stragglers, do as I do! Do not trail me. I’ll go it alone. This is my rut, it isn’t for you - So get out by a rut of your own!
© Sergei Roy. Translation, 1990