Iím all in light and open to all eyes, Iím setting to the regular procedure - Before the mike as if the icons wise... But not, today more likely - the besieger. The microphoneís not over fond of me - To my voice anyone can grow hateful, - When off the truth I can somewhere be It amplifies my lies to them made full. Shoots the tracing lighting with a blind ray, Lamping up my face in an unkind way, On two sides projectors dazzling beat, And - the heat!.. the heat!.. the heat! Today extremely hoarse I have to wheeze, To change the tone, however, wouldnít dare, - You know, if I once my conscience twist - It wonít straighten up the curve, for fair. Much keener than a knife, a crafty rogue, - A perfect pitch, can hear false iota, - It doesnít care Iíve lost my stroke, - But should correct be singing out note! Shoots the tracing lighting with a blind ray, Lamping up my face in an unkind way, On two sides projectors dazzling beat, And - the heat!.. the heat!.. the heat! This microphone on the adapting neck Can listen to my uttering and bless it - As soon as fall I silent - biting back, - I have to sing to torpor, to a death fit. Stop wavering, manoeuvring you, damn! I saw a sting - you are a snake, I know! A cobra-charmer certainly I am: I donít sing - with charms a snake endow! Shoots the tracing lighting with a blind ray, Lamping up my face in an unkind way, On two sides projectors dazzling beat, And - the heat!.. the heat!.. the heat! A nestling like, insatiate enough It hangs around pecking out a sound, Will put in me nine grams of leaden stuff, - Arms canít be raised - with a guitar theyíre bound! The situation lasting over days! What is my mike? - Iíd like my mind to brighten, An icon-lamp it is before my face, - Not holy Iím, the mike can neither lighten. Shoots the tracing lighting with a blind ray, Lamping up my face in an unkind way, On two sides projectors dazzling beat, And - the heat!.. the heat!.. the heat! My melodies are simpler than a scale, But whenever I lose a candid tone - My cheeks slapping badly doesnít fail A shadow immobile íf microphone.         Shoots the tracing lighting with a blind ray, Lamping up my face in an unkind way, On two sides projectors dazzling beat, And - the heat!.. the heat!.. the heat!
© Natalia Tverskova. Translation, 2000