Warm the bath-hut, my love, set it steaming, I’ve been out in the cold for so long. It still seems to me I must be dreaming... Icy water will loosen my tongue. Warm the bath-hut, my love, set it steaming, I will lash myself glowing red, On a shelf somewhere near the ceiling I will squash all my doubts - kill them dead. I’ll ease off to the point of brutality, Then a roll in the snow will feel good, And the face of that cult personality Will stand out on my left breast, tattoo’d. Warm the bath-hut, my love, set it steaming, I’ve been out in the cold for so long. It still seems to me I must be dreaming... Heady steam, it will loosen my tongue. How much timber and faith have since fallen, How much grief fell in all of our days! On my left breast, a profile of Stalin, On my right one, Marina full face. For my utter devotion and loyalty Half my life I spent in paradise... Yeah, my utter and selfless stupidity Cost me thousands of hopeless black days. Warm the bath-hut, my love, set it steaming, I’ve been out in the cold for so long. It still seems to me I must be dreaming... Heady steam, it will loosen my tongue. I remember my yell, I still hear it: "Brother, help!" Back to back, we fought hard. Then they marched me across half Siberia To the other half, those pretty guards. Later, lost among marshes or snowpiles, Sucking down rotgut and bitter tears, We tattoo’d next to our hearts those profiles That the breaking of hearts He might hear. Christ, the steam is too hot near the ceiling - I’ve been out in the cold for too long. It still seems to me I must be dreaming... Heady steam, it will loosen my tongue. How my story sets my own flesh crawling! But the steam drives away all my cares - I fly back from the fog, bleakly rolling From the past, into hot, steamy air. Seems I branded myself for no reason With that image - doubts rips up my mind, And I lash with a thick birch-twig besom At my heart - and the evil times’ sign. Warm the bath-hut, my love, set it steaming, I’ve been out in the cold for so long. It still seems to me I must be dreaming... Icy water will loosen my tongue.
© Sergei Roy. Translation, 1990