Someone picked out a fruit that was green, was green, Gave the tree a good shake, down it fell, it fell... Here’s a song about who failed to sing, to sing, Of his having a voice unaware, unaware. Perhaps, there had been discords with the fate, the fate, And with luck, things had also been bad, been bad, While a taut string had lain onto frets, onto frets With a never detected defect. He coyly started - with a ‘C’, But in the middle, failed to sing... His chord had failed to ring all out, all out, And not a soul had been inspired... A dog was barking and a cat Was hunting mice... Amusing! Isn’t it worth a smile, a smile? His joke went halfway to a halt, He hadn’t finished tasting wine - He hadn’t even had a shot. He was only about to start words, words, Still uncertain and slow to begin, As if small beads of sweat out of pores, Soul was showing up from under skin. He’d just started a fight in a ring, Very slowly, he’d only begun. He had just got his bearings in it, And the judge had not started the count. He’s keen to know from A to Z, But hadn’t got to it, he hadn’t... Not a surmise, nor the profound - He hadn’t dug down to the heart, Nor her, who was the only one, Had loved all out, had loved all out! Amusing! Isn’t it worth a smile, a smile, He’d hurried up, and all in vain? And everything he had no time To solve, for life unsolved remained. I’m not lying, the story is whole, He’d devotedly served a pure style, He wrote verses to her on the snow, - Snows, unfortunately, thaw when time. But in those days it snowed, anyway, There was freedom to write on the snow. And large snowflakes, as well as hail, With his mouth he caught on the run. But in a landau, to her place, He failed to get, he failed to get... He hadn’t run, a runner-fugitive, He hadn’t flown, nor had he raced, While Taurus, a star sign of his, Was lapping ice-cold Milky Way. Amusing, isn’t it worth a smile, When time is short through seconds’ lack, A missing link, a lacking while - And under mark, and under mark. Amusing, isn’t it? Here you are Amused, even I am put away. A horse in race, a bird in flight, And who’s to blame, and who’s to blame?
© Vyacheslav Chetin. Translation, 2011