I.A.Ivanova. Eugeniya Negina

I.A.Ivanova

Eugeniya Negina

Novel in verses

The English version by the author

St Peterburgs

2013

To the bright memory of

Valentin Petrovich

S T A K H O V

Where's gust to life, self-realizing?

(Non-Viazemskiy)

It was not written for amusing:

Raised by the love to YOU, my YOUTH,

I drew your portrait, now losing

Its zest. Not hurting or abuse

Possessed and ruled my pen, so kind.

I offered YOU a glance behind

At the bright epoch, which forewent

And took away its glorious bent.

Nowadays not all are sleepy,

Not all best trends are dug in dust.

So every youngster can and must

Enrich his life, perfect and deepen.

Material wealth, increasing cash

Never let human souls blossom.

Not market, but spiritual dash

Must live inside each youngster's bosom.

Author

CHAPTER I

Her aunt got crazy of enriching:

To run a business was her dream.

She was unlucky, poor creature --

Severe cancer broke her scheme...

She lay in bed. For bed-side care

Her people ran from everywhere,

Not to relieve her painful fit --

To be rewarded just a bit.

Is not it utterly perfidious

To comfort her, to please and try

Instead of asking: "Will you die

And interrupt my work, so tedious?

Where is high God, so slow one?

It's time. His mission must be done..."

All grown-ups thought just the same.

But Zhenka, with her childish eyes,

Took no cares to be blamed,

Had no hopes for a prize.

Handful of coins from her aunty --

Was all with what the girl was granted.

That gave a bit of bread and milk

For her, who lacked the normal meal.

Her Ma had been respected, active,

But happy time had passed away.

Now Ma drank all nights and days,

Zhenka's entreating ineffective.

How to prevent her mother's drinks?

Oh, many troubles vodka brings...

III

As far as Zhenka knew her Father,

The smith of their rich state-farm,

He'd been the pride of her and Mother

With his good labour, humour, charm.

But something happened. All the neighbours

Left their land, and huts, and labour.

Their state-farm had been destroyed,

All their happy life annoyed.1

Peasants abandoned their homes

And fled in panic far away,

As if in distant towns they

Could find shelters, not hard roams.

The fields, the villages stood dead:

The former tenants all had fled...

And our smith, Vasiliy Negin,

Directs his way to Leningrad.

He moves to Zhenka's aunty Maggy,

His elder sister, native blood.

As the state-farm had been destroyed,

Could one there poverty avoid?

Not he himself to Peter strove,

But damned "rebuilding" shooed him off.

And Russian sun looked coldly down

From those heaven, dark and grey,

At them, all running far away

And leaving country-side for towns.

Forsaking native nests behind

They fled at random, frightened, blind...

The sun is far -- the wood is near.

It stands its snowy clothes on,

And whiles, with not a single tear,

The lot, it's being put upon.

It sees: the mighty Lenin's power,

Our achievements, progress our

Are being trodden by the skunks,

Who perish wood and saw its trunks.

With Russian wisdom, beauty, patience

It bears down nasty roads,

When it is sawn and brought abroad

By foreign thieves. Such's the new fashion.

As Russian riches don't belong

To Russia, which had them so long.

The sister welcomed dear brother

With hospitality and joy.

Vasiliy, Zhenka and her Mother

Can't hinder Aunty or annoy.

She lives alone: her two sonnies

Have left the country hunting money.

Rich foreign countries better please

Young engineers with degrees.

Russia got poor: scanty wages.

How can you buy all goods and food?

Why waiting hunger to intrude

Under new system outrageous?

Let foreign world is not inspired,

None there is of hunger tired.

VII

Vasiliy Negin was not eager

To live like sister's parasite.

His skills, laboriousness and vigour

Could bring him independent site.

He looked for job. But everywhere

The Southern words hung in the air.

Strangers rejected Russian men.

What happened to the town? When?

His sister, through her ties or so,

Arranged his working at a bar

To serve rich idlers, washing cars,

Enjoying fee, which trey would throw.

The nasty job for our smith

Made envious many he dealt with.

VIII

The Soviet worker, smith Vasiliy,

Tries to obtain a worthy work.

Is he so weak or lazy, silly?

Where is the former working stock --

They, who had flowed like mighty river

In friendly labour-loving fever

To many factories and plants?

Can one see them in Peter? Can't.2

No strive to labour and its gains,

No plans for future joyful life

In people. Their single strive

Is just to office, papers' rains.

Is it the fruitful labour? No.

And people look extinct and slow...

....................................................

The smith dropped in an office. There

(As friendly chums explained him)

They hire folk from everywhere.

Will it come true, his main dream?

The office gives the registration

For them, endurable and patient,

To live in basements, dampness in,

And not to pine or die within.

Why to retreat? They promise labour,

Apart from bars and wealthy mice.

The smith had dreamed not once, not twice

Of real work, with joy and favour.

He hurries to the office, which

May be, with normal work can bridge.

Girl-secretary in the office

Gave a sly glance to our smith.

Her single interest was in profit

From bribes all newcomers come with.

-- Have brought an envelope or no? --

She asked. He, ignorant or so,

Could not take into those words,

As if he came from abroad.

At last he grasped: she waits for money,

Not for herself -- for greedy chief...

Vasiliy lost all his belief

In 'Peter. Off he's quickly running.

"Got mad of money", -- he took in,

His heart went pit-a-pat within.

XII

This elegant and fine city

Was known well to our smith.

It was described, in verses written

To be the best in foggy mist.

He visited not once this town,

Whose culture now had got down.

Its new and alien buildings stand

All in disgusting modern trend.

The ads make every view so ugly.

They foist, they spoil, simplify

Ensembles of the city. Why

Aren't local people friendly struggling?

"Shame on you, -- the smith did blame, --

My town. You are not the same..."

XIII - XIV

.......................................................

Abode of harmony and beauty

Is being spoilt to disgust.

Why may one stupid, nasty, brutal

Mar "Northern Beauty" so fast?

The best apartments are for those,

Who with dishonest money rose.

True Leningraders, move aside:

The outskirts are your new site.

In the besieged and starving town

You had defended Leningrad.

Forget your merits, tortures, blood,

They are a half-forgotten sound.

To outskirts, old hoary folk!

Sit there still and never poke.

XVI

The smith works in the same restaurant,

In loath-some, alien, useless bar

Among the idlers, rich and festal,

He serves them, washing their cars.

He hates the faces, drunk and foolish,

He must be shy with every bully,

He sees the love, which's being sold,

And lovers, empty-hearted, cold,

And money, gained through deceiving,

Not by the normal honest way.

For what may live disgusting they?

They must not have the right for living.

The anger grew, like mighty wave,

In our smith, who's their slave.

XVII

Who wants the slavery in Russia

To be returned from tsarist time,

Aside its population brushing:

Its ninety per cent to die

And ten per cent to serve intruders,

Less intellectual and ruder?

Such is your plan, inhuman brutes,

Directing dreadful global routes.

Degenerates, the global villains,

Foist church's gibberish to folk

To make it bear foreign yoke,

To Underworld with hopes willing.

They met defeat in forty-five

And now try another strife.

XVIII

We knew the Paradise in Russia,

When, having overthrown its tsar,

It was aside his system brushing

And built new plants, machines and cars.

The Soviet industry grew stronger

And agriculture slept no longer.

Its backward peoples rose to light

Of culture. Progress was so bright!

From backward country, sleepy, blind

The Soviet Union jumped ahead

And its victorious, glorious tread

Soon left the whole world behind.

All the achievements we embraced --

On earth, in minds -- and in space.

XIX

The glorious past today is trodden,

Defeated is the happy land.

We have not life, but heavy burden,

We cannot follow our bent.

We mourn the Soviet past. In vain:

We cannot have it soon again.

"None chooses epochs to abide", --

The modern poet Kushner writes.

We are content with petty pleasures,

To no high purpose we can strive.

We do not live, we must survive,

As all today's with money measured.

...Vasiliy gained lucky fee

By midnight. He went home with glee.

He heard a scream: "Come, people. Save me!"

A driver, like in bad cartoons,

Seized a young lady from the pavement

And forced her to his car-saloon.

Vasiliy's quick: "Hands off, you nasty.

Where is your conscience? Has it rusted?

The town swarms with prostitutes --

Aren't they enough for you, new brutes?

She's half a child", -- he saved the student

With iron blows of his fists.

He took her by her trembling wrist

And saw her home. He was prudent,

Not knowing, that the skunk he beat

Was waiting for him in the street.

XXI

What happened then no one could witness.

Events were swift, like in cartoons.

A noiseless shot, precise in fitness,

The car rode off and far was soon.

A passer-by, who saw the body,

Drew it aside from pavement border:

He took the warm and breathless corpse

For drunkard, sleeping like a top.

Vasiliy Negin soon was buried.

Who chooses epoch to abide?

Both Zhenka and the widow cried

(She loved him since they had been married).

Mourning her brother, kind and dear,

The aunt was drunk, but all in tears.

XXII

"Why don't you drink? -- was asked Tatiana,

The mournful widow, by the guests. --

Forsake your tincture "Valeriana",

A glass of wine relieves the breast".

Bar "Etual", which lost Vasiliy,

Such vigorous, laborious, willing,

Granted his widow a small room

And paid for his erected tomb.

Classmates consoled the poor orphan.

They gave Zhenka cookies, sweets,

They wrote notes -- let her read,

Not weep so bitterly and often.

It's with the Russian: friend in need

Is real, dear and indeed.

XXIII

Tatiana, having no protection,

Remained jobless. How to live?

And she agreed, on short reflection,

To walk with dogs for wealthy thieves.

This nasty and unworthy labour,

The death of husband, hungry table

Crushed our former sober nurse

And she got drinking worse and worse.

Now every morn a glass of wine

Helps to begin another day.

Whatever Zhenka tries to say

She cannot change her mother's line.

She after school must cook and clean,

And not a ray of hope is seen...

XXIV

Years of childhood. Time of virgin

And shy excursions to the world,

When dreams spread far beyond the lodging

And verify what's being told.

Life tempts life interests and inspires.

And eyes are full of pure fires,

As no chance so far to meet

Perfidious swindles and deceit.

All disappointments, betrayals,

And envy with revengeful hooks

Rest so far in big sealed books,

Covered with pink rejoicing veils.

A kid resembles tender bud,

Protected from sharp winds and mud.

XXV

Do you protect enough young brains,

My Russia, my exhausted land?

What can your kids from TV gain?

Pornography? Or ill jazz band?

Parents are busy earning money

To gain for kids some bread and honey.

To read aloud? To discuss

With kids some problem? Not for us.

To educate a gentle person

With high ideas, noble goal?

For what? Extinct are those all,

And mental life is now frozen.

Eat, drink and breed. And when one dies,

They let him dream of Paradise.

XXVI

Once Zhenka's classmate, named Andreyka,

In his clean-ironed shirt and suit,

Sat at her desk -- and shocked, awakened.

He wrote: "Zhenia, I love you".

They both were nine, tiny creatures,

But his four words brought something richer,

Than boredom of her days' routine

And home, with drinking Ma within.

He wrote: "Answer". Could she answer,

That something sang inside her breast,

Like happy bird inside the nest,

Not knowing words like "feelings", "trances"?

In life, monotonous and grey,

Such sparkles please and make us gay.

XXVII

For home children left together

With arms round each other's waist,

Neglecting all the classmates, whether

The latter jeered in the face.

Their alliance was quite pure.

Why did familiar gestures lure

These two young kids? Oh, TV-screen...

Oh, streets with rotten life within...

Andreyka's family lived near

His school, just in the same yard.

"You will be punished, punished hard,

My young Romeo," -- mother sneered.

She, by the window, saw her son

With anger, mixed with real fun.

XXVIII

New familiarity of pairs,

Which raises loathing and disgust,

We now witness everywhere --

Like plague, it's spreading very fast.

The family of young Romeo --

Pa, Ma, the boy, the friendly trio,

Discussed his manners, nasty ones,

Worthy but of The States or France.

The boy was weeping: "Could I know,

That it is bad? It's being done

By all, not me, the single one."

His Father made a speech. Below

We will repeat his speech in short

For our readers to be taught.

XXIX

If "he" and "she" caress each other

For demonstrating their love,

They are not valid, they are rather

Sex-impotents, not loving doves.

They aren't impassioned and immoral.

Just to disguise the inner quarrel

And their scanty sexual selves

They feign to open loving valves.

And this performance has somehow

To compensate the lack of love,

Which is beyond them and above,

Like sun, like stars or rainbow.

Their abnormal clowns' sketch

Is able scanty joy to fetch.

XXX

In simple words for dear sonny

The father told of all above,

Persuading to reject the funny

Performance, substituting love.

The child listened not objecting,

But told he'd loved this poor Zheka.

She is a beauty, but in gloom.

They have a small and dirty room,

She's often hungry: no money,

Her father lately has been killed,

Her mother drinks, she is weak-willed,

Zhenka's unhappy, poor tiny.

-- And when adult, -- his tune enhanced, --

I'll marry Zhenechka at once!

XXXI

The parents looking at each other

Got smiling, touched by sonny's words,

And tears filled the eyes of Mother.

But their boy was earnest. What's

Coming of those silly feelings?

Must he be so often dealing

With her, who lives in modern mud

In our spoilt Leningrad?

How to prevent these contacts, how?

They can't control him, both at work.

It will be wrong of them to lock

The boy at home, not letting out.

And this disgusting modern rule

Cannot protect him, when at school.

XXXII

And parents changed the school for sonny.

So every morning this Andrey

Sits in the car with his Papania

And rides six miles far away.

After the lessons -- never home.

He hurries like to aerodrome

With folded easel to Art School,

Paints and brushes are his tools.

He likes to draw and feels the colours.

Art can distract him from the girl,

Who is not match for him at all.

And every day this route, so dullest

For young Romeo. As you see,

The new-built barrier it could be.

XXXIII

Forbidden fruits are twice as sweetest.

Young artist drew the dear face

To calm the anguish, hard and bitter,

At lessons, breaks, in his long ways.

The parents knew that. And they waited:

He will forget the girl they hated.

More intellectual new friends

Will change his former childish tends.

His Pa and Ma got gladly sure:

Andrey is saved from modern beasts,

And from that awful girl, at least.

Can she still be for him a lure?

The parents thought, that their son

Had brushed aside the beasts. They won!

XXXIV

Let us ascertain, anyhow,

Whom we may call benighted beasts,

Who lives with us, exists around,

Not knowing, why he does exist.

And even under Soviet power

They lived -- the beasts we write about.

Food, clothes, wealth and nothing more

Existed, which they could adore.

But with ideal social system,

When our life was centralized,

They worked for future, great and bright,

Though were themselves deprived of wisdom.

And they took part, though unaware,

In great achievements everywhere.

XXXV

What is today? We have no future,

Or goals, or striving to the top.

A motley dress, and meat from butchers,

And better car and flat. Full stop...

The work we do brings no aim

Or challenge. Every day the same:

If one has gained better fee,

It gives him comfort, pleasure, glee.

We do not live, but we survive.

Some beasts are glad and want no more.

As they are happy, therefore

They are the beasts. They have arrived

To beastly wants. All social trends

Are in the past. The mental end...

XXXVI

And Zhenka dealt with beastly girlies,

The offsprings of her father's chums.

They were fed-up, well-dressed and jolly,

But empty-headed, like two drums.

Both Nastia and her Veronica,

Kids of the bar, its native trickles,

Curled hair, polished nails in red,

Their perfumery wide-spread.

They wore the two pectoral crosses,

At their nine-year age,

They talked on husbands with good wage,

They knew, how to please the bosses.

And school? Oh, school allows all

With pluralism in leading role.

XXXVII

"Suppress the birth-rate there, in Russia.

Die out, wise prophetic land!"

And global skunks are rudely brushing

Aside all former Soviet trends.

"Off, baby-dolls, from Russian girlies.

Doll-woman Barbie, make them jolly.

Prevent the growth of birth-rate.

The Russian motherhood, abate!"

Nica and Nastia play with Barbies,

They jeer at the baby-doll

Of Zhenka, at its linen all,

Which is hand-made and funny garbing.

Though Zhenka loved her Baby-doll,

Barbie is better, after all...

XXXVIII

In Soviet time we used to practise

Raiding check-ups of home books

And gave parents all correctives,

If libraries could not be brooked.

Not roomy lodging -- does it matter?

Your kids must read, and more, and better.

No time -- move some deals away

Read books aloud every day.

Books helped to master great ideas,

Taught kids to live, to dream, to fight,

Made people's lives inspired, bright,

Books were respected, wanted, dear.

Today my Russia badly reads,

It only sleeps, and drinks, and eats...

XXXIX, XL, XLI

................................................

..................................................

XLII

Let's look at Zhenka, Nastia, Nica.

Are they so rare, so wise?

These girls forgot of eating, drinking,

All in a book, with souls and eyes.

"The Book for Schoolgirls". Let's get paging.

The more it's paged, the more enraging.

The sorry-author poisons kids

With his sententious text like it:

"Don't lose the time. Time's money.

You're ten. And where is your boy-friend?

Win over him, your happy-end

Must tread somebody's tears and dramas.

Love is the first, all schooling then.

Think but of love and happy-end."

XLIII

Who lets this venom to young schoolers

In our hard perverted time?

Who barks and shoots the evil bullets

Through pure unaffected chime?

Now let's page the youngsters' journal.

Its cover's bright. But what's internal?

As usual... Voiceless sorry-stars --

Disgusting, worthy of a bar.

They pull all youths far from singing,

From harmony, from real Art.

Every degenerate's a bard.

His sorry-voice, though hardly ringing

And very miserable seems,

It maims views, and tastes, and dreams.

XLIV

An age ago tsarist Russia

Knew early weddings for its folk.

The habit was young peasants crushing:

It shortened juvenescence, broke

All juvenile happy years,

Distorted lives and all careers,

Banned any studies for the folk:

Bear your kids and work and work.

Recall the lines from Pushkin's novel:

Aged of thirteen (the nurse did tell)

Under the church's evil bells

She had been wedded, youth was over...3

Who lived in villages, beneath,

For Russian tsars was like a beast.

XLV

An age has passed. And tsars' nightmare

Today is glorified for us --

To make us mar the Soviet fair

And happy period, which passed.

But early weddings are forbidden,

Though early sex exists, not hidden.

Why? Early weddings raise birth-rate,

While fleeting sex makes it abate.

High school diplomas are on sale,

School knowledge is reduced to none...

For what would study everyone?

For self-perfecting? Soviet tales!

Developed brain and its might

Are but for them, whose hair's white...

XLVI

Not all in Russia got degraded,

Money and sex attract not all.

The strive to science has not faded,

And real Arts don't lose the role.

In one Art School we met Romeo.

We hardly recognized him even.

The easels rested, in the hall

The kids took off the overalls.

The lecturer, a famous master,

Urged kids to stick to realism,

Which differed (got through epochs' prisms),

But none could bring it to combustion.

Now it's "polirealism",

It does not fear epochs' prisms.

XLVII

The kids' discussion is so vivid,

It's full of guesses, inner thoughts.

One's taking floor. Romeo's willing?

What new ideas has he brought?

-- We know thoughts to be material,

Invisible and all interior, --

Andrey began. -- But what to do?

They can't be drawn, when I want to.

And are abstractive methods earnest?

They are subjective, not for all,

As if the queer artists stroll

Beyond the life. It's wrong, dishonest.

What must we do? Can you advise

And give instructions, keen and wise?

XLVIII

It's such a boon. In evil epoch

The ardent search still has not died. .

It lives, it acts, it's getting deeper,

Never confusing wrong and right.

Let youngsters search. And what a truly

Was clever question of young bully!

He, aged of twelve, can look ahead,

Beyond what he has seen and read.

The lecturer, much sympathizing,

Looked at the boy. Pathetic face

And soul tender, like a lace,

With inner passion, young and rising.

His masters say, that this Andrey

Is very gifted, by the way.

XLIX

One early morning this Andreyka

Woke up unwell, his forehead hot.

His both parents awakened

And saw the rash: lots of red dots.

-- It's chicken pox, you'll stay from schooling,

Mum told. -- No walks and no cooling.

I'll run and buy some urgent drugs,

You must lie still with blankets tucked.

Good luck! At last he is alone.

He takes binoculars at once,

To the schoolyard directs his glance

From window-sill, as cold as stone.

He has not seen his chums for long.

Oh, chicken pox is good, not wrong...

At last his Zhenechka appeared,

She's walking hurriedly to school.

She's seen, as if she is quite near

Through his adjusted little tool.

She looks adult. She dyed her hair,

Long fashionable coat... Where

Could she get money? -- he amazed.

Her bluish curls fall on her face,

The two large rings hang from the ears,

And those heels, and those gloves...

But slender, like a reindeer,

She's changed, the dear girl he loves.

New ugly fashions can't distort

Her charm, it is of highest sort.

"Why is she rich? They were so poor

After the murder of her Pa, --

Andrey was thinking. -- From a moor

Or from the sky cash could not come."

But Zhenka had received a fortune

From aunty Maggy. Ill and tortured

By cancer, poor aunty died,

Her money went to Zhenka. Why

Not to the sons, who buried Mummy?

Lucky on their chosen road,

They now got enriched abroad

And gave Zhenka Mummy's money.

For them it was a petty loss,

But Zhenka was best Mummy's nurse.

LII

Our Andrey is unaware

Of those matters in her kin.

He thinks and thinks, from who, from where

All Zhenia's clothes could have been.

Who changed his girl so much, who dared?

Her ear-rings... Her bluish hair...

Expensive coat shoes and gloves...

Quite different looked the girl he loves.

"May be, her mother stopped her drinking,

Zhenechka does not live in want?

But why to dress like girls from haunts?" --

Andrey was rather shocked, when thinking.

Her Mum was blind to what girl wore:

She drank cheap wines more and more...

LIII

Confused, bewildering, amazing

Andrey was sitting on the sill.

His memory got quickly raising

Some glimpses of the childish deals.

"Love overrides all human ages",4

As Pushkin wrote. Our pages

Are weaker, but we may repeat

His line: we are proving it.

And young Romeo felt for certain:

"Whatever I create in Art

I'll gift, together with my heart,

To Zhenka -- dear, unforgotten".

Her image lived, subduing him,

Like sweet and everlasting dream.

LIV

Mum came home from the druggist's

And saw her sonny on the sill.

-- Andrey, -- her face got strict and rugged,

Will you obey, at last?

-- I will.

He lay in bed, as it was ordered.

Not leaving bed he drew and boarded,

And swallowed pills, which she had brought.

No other way: disease is caught.

Whatever doing, he was thinking

Of Zhenka. How's she getting on?

How to meet her and to learn

With who she deals, to what is winging.

"Does she remember me or not?" --

Through fever young Romeo thought.

The doctor came. All was as usual:

Advice, prescriptions and the like.

Young patient sat among the cushions,

His dreams all being far in flight.

He has to meet her anyhow,

To speak just face-to-face about

The days in their former school.

Will she be glad or alien, cool?

His new girl-friends are good and clever,

And some are charming, witty, gay.

For none of those girls Andrey

Can change his Zhenka -- never, never.

Parents are strict with their ban,

But he will grow up. And then...

LVI

Nica has got a big computer,

Her own site in Internet.

She is allowed by hef Mutter

To use all programs tet-a-tet.

Pornography attracts three girlies,

Especially, when they are jolly.

They got accustomed to the toy

They like pornography, enjoy.

School? School may be forgotten.

The age of freedom. Pluralism!

Go behind, Puritanism,

Soviet morality, so rotten.

Be damned the teachers and the schools.

We have new age and its new rules.

LVII

Romeo's Pa, a knowing doctor,

Was ignorant in modern Art.

Too with his medicine interlocking

He lived in it, and not apart.

His son was growing and progressing

In chosen Art. Pa was confessing:

He's lagging far behind him...

The fact made our doctor grim.

And not to be an ignoramus

He plans to visit Art Saloon,

To know canvases, cartoons,

Not all -- at least, the most famous.

He'll go with sonny, side-by-side,

Andrey will be his Father's guide.

LVIII

He, doctor Sokolov, can hardly

Pretend to be expert in Art.

And still, his ignorance regardless,

He tells, what feels his clever heart:

--Lots of the works are inartistic,

But even gifted ones aren't risking

To touch the vital modern plots,

To say in Art their own words.

Russia is now agonizing,

Life gives us such exciting scenes --

Artists are blind to them. That means,

They fear them, so are not rising.

May be, the censorship is strict

And artists try not to conflict?

LIX

Andrey is young for those problems,

For those hard excessive themes.

Majestic Nevskiy, great and solemn,

In all sublimity meets him.

They turned to Nevskiy from Morskaya.5

-- Let's go on foot, I am not tired.

It's not a prospect -- beauty, eh? --

Delightfully suggests Andrey.

Kazanskiy welcomes them so heartily,

Its arms of columns open wide,

Church on the Blood, seen from aside

And Duma's needle smile brightly,

Publichka greets them from ahead...

Who saw them once, will not forget.

And one feels, he must grow worthy

Of every prospect, square, bridge,

As every stone, every crossing

Remind of hunger, war, besiege.

The fair town could be stronger

All evils. It must blossom longer

And win the hardships, as it won,

And be the best and worse than none.

In vain evil global forces

Bring slavery to Neva-banks.

They will again break the fangs,

This town's stronger foreign bosses.

Not dollars, arms and not high Lord,

But only Beauty saves the world.

CHAPTER II

It's winter. Summer tyre-rubbers

Are being changed for winter ones

Just to avoid the sliding troubles

And skidding wheels on icy runs.

The cars with winter-season tyres

Force city traffic to retire,

The summer-tyred jam the yards,

So small in our Leningrad.

This winter weather is unreal.

Where are "Epiphany's" hard frosts?

It's thawing all the days across

Instead of Russian frosts severe.

We see in winter everywhere

The youngsters with uncovered hair.

The Neva-river is refusing

From icy blankets it used long,

And January is not confusing

The greenish grass in our lawn.

No ice even on lakes and marshes,

We ourselves did gather mushrooms

Before New Year in the wood.

And who believe such wonders could?

Oh, new oblivion of traditions!

December lives like summer did.

Summers got very cool, indeed:

The climate mixed its main missions.

Where has the former climate lost

That our famous Russian frost? 1

III

Thermometers don't check the time

Like calendars, so steady ones.

"School second term must be behind!" --

Tells January, strict winter month.

But Nastia, Zhenechka and Nica

For any schooling have the blinkers.

Their successes are so bad.

In day-books single mark's "unsat"...

But modern school wants no knowledge.

When kids neglect its home-tasks,

School does not punish them or asks;

Rich kids may miss it, taking voyage...

And three young shirks were not confused:

All their loafing got excused.

That gave them freedom: using lip-stick,

Cosmetic and all frivolous frocks.

Nica sometimes was noticed tipsy,

Nastia drinks vodka, wine and grogs.

Though Zhenja shuns and fears wine

(Not to repeat her mother's line) --

The three of them go to night-pub,

For moral dirt new-opened hub.

Why not to come? The day is Christmas,

New-glorified disgusting date,

Allegedly protecting fate

Of all, as God can help and smooth us.

God will secure these three fools,

God can direct all lives and rules...

It's winter. What a drizzling weather!

Can we the poet imitate,

Not knowing and not hoping, whether

Winter will grant us winter days?

"The peasant-boy... And his toboggan..." 2

Great Pushkin! It's a backward slogan

Of former winters. Not with us

Those snowfalls, and drifts, and ice...

Local authorities, however,

Were ready (Governor had signed,

But folk rejected his design

And interrupted his endeavour) --

To make a winter skating-rink

On the Dvortsovaya. Skate! Drink!

This Square, specimen of beauty,

The witness of heroic past,

Can't be distorted, executed.

It must belong to all of us,

To you, my readers and the heirs

Of the events, seen by this Square,

Of courage, heroism and blood

In glorious past of Leningrad.

And let The Square in all times --

Old Paradise or modern Hell --

Stay quite inviolable, well,

Stay sacred, worshiped and divine.

Not dollars, cannons or high Lord,

But beauty saves existing world.

VII

My dear town! Will the beauty

Save you from vandals of today,

Who are so violent and brutal,

Who spoil you, and hurt, and prey?

Look through yourself: new-built small churches,

Which fool the people, adding tortures,

Appear, like toadstools in rain

And seed obscurity again.

Global "rebuilding", signed by those,

Who rule today on our Earth,

Fears the Brain. It's always cross,

Against church, which lately rose

And foists its loath-some routines,

And cretinism to people brings.

VIII

High Brain and Conscience are the riches,

The priceless treasures and the pride.

Just them civilization reaches

On all its way, hard, long and wide.

But global blackguards, to be rulers,

Prefer to have rude beasts -- the foolish,

Obedient, brainless and shy,

Who never think "For what?" and "Why?".

Are slavery and serfdom bygone?

The globalizm thinks otherwise

And its obscurity revives,

Foisting God's gibberish and icons.

High Soviet culture, get away,

God's gibberish, receive "green way"!

The Sokolovs, Pa, Ma and Sonny,

Had friendly, very earnest talks.

Young artists hated "the divinish"

New topics, spreading like black pox.

-- "The Crucifix"... Must we it paint?

Oh, I had better die or faint,

I will not mar my canvas. Why?--

Andrey said and began to cry:

-- We are all sick of the divinish.

If we refuse, we'll have "unsat".

But I wish neither this, nor that, --

Told of his troubles poor Sonny, --

We all are humans, aren't mice...

His parents had to give advice.

-- Don't weep, Andrey. I'll write a letter,

That you were ill, you could not draw.

All will be right, and much more better,

Than quarrels, discontent or so, --

Said Mother, full of indignation. --

They make rough beasts of our nation.

It's theme for bedlams, not for kids.

Why nobody such themes forbids?

-- It's the wrong way.., -- objected Daddy,

To hide from problems far away.

I disagree, if my Andrey

Draws such a trash, unreal, shady.

But why withdrawals? Keep your might,

Defend your views, if they are right.

-- All right. But what are you suggesting? --

Their Maman got wound-up. --

You want your son to be confessing,

To be believing, like a scrub?

-- Not that. I am the first to protest.

Don't make of me too tame and modest.

I will be bellicose and wild,

If churchmen touch my dear child.

Let my young atheist think over

One plot. Great Patriotic war...

-- With "Crucifix"?

-- No. Listen more,

Don't scream, please. Speak somewhat lower.

My "Crucifix" can just exist

Without any church and Christ.

XII

-- It is the truth and not a legend, --

Father went on. -- I heard all that

From wounded veteran, my patient,

Of all his wounds he's now dead.

A partisan, his younger brother,

Was caught by fascists. At all hazards,

Despite the tortures and the racks,

They could not the young hero break.

He was exhausted, but alive,

When was in public crucified:

Nailed to central gates. The sight

Was shown to all women, wives.

His native and heroic Mam

Was in the crowd among them.

XIII

Why? Could the countrymen keep silence?

Why did not they stand up for him? --

Andrey was shocked by sadists violence

And people: they too tame seemed.

-- To thwart the fascists meant immediate

Bullet in head. They faked obedient,

But nightly helped armed trained guards,

The partisans from local huts.

Draw them, Andrey. No groans or tears,

They see atrocity with calm,

While the fascists beastly jeer

And send the nails through warm palms.

It's just the plot for "Crucifix".

Take paints, brush, my son. And fix.

XIV

-- German intruders... They were crushing

All our life on their way, --

The boy asked Pa. -- Why are we, Russian,

Building damned Hitlerism today?

The words of sonny frightened parents.

From who could he pick up them? Where?

-- Off panic-mongers, -- father cried. --

They lie, Andrey. They are not right.

The point was not for young Sonny,

Yet so silly at fifteen.

-- No disasters, which had been, --

Said Pa. -- and life is calmly running...

-- Let all politics go to hell, --

Said Mum. -- Without them it's well.

"Winter... All peasants are enjoying..."

Stop! May we cite this Pushkin's line?

We see no snow, all is thawing,

And no frost, and sun does shine.

Recall: above a lot was written

Of peasants' flights to different cities,

From nature -- meadows, grass and buds.

We, too, return to Leningrad.

Hallow, my town, great and dear!

Some skunks have changed your glorious name,3

But you for us are called the same,

My Leningrad. For me it's clear:

Future'll return the name to you,

Great Lenin's merits to renew.

XVI

For what's this fence? Construction project?

Oh, yes. Sky-scraper is designed.

"Gasprom" is this affair forging.

Misplaced, the project has been signed.

Among the elegance and beauty

Some idiot, benighted, brutal

Erects "may-pole" to the sky.4

For what? To spoil town? Why?

The Neva-bank, so widely known

For architectural ensemble

Will look so bad, as if some bumble

Had beaten it, and swell had grown.

New hosts are spoiling splendid sights.

We protest, but... But who consults?

XVII

The world must bow to the moment,

When gifted architect, "messier"

(His name's known: Corbusier) 5

Laid huts in one sky-scraper. Torments?

No, not a bit. New architecture

Envisaged space for virgin nature.

Alas! Like that it was not done:

Sky-scrapers crowd one by one.

No sun-rays, no parks and squares,

No promised virgin woods among.

Dust settles on the tenants' lungs

In all the towns, everywhere.

Thus was frustrated the design,

Which could be prosperous and fine.

XVIII

Why is this tend of him, who's ruling --

Just to amaze and to impress?

They will not stop, eternal bullies,

Succeeding. Is it a success?

To boast of something, at all levels,

No matter, if you wrench the navel,

If for the usage, as a whole,

It cannot play important role.

In brothels they compete, whose longer,

In newspapers -- the largest bust...

And such is "Okhta-scraper" -- just

The ugly race to be prolonging!

Let it distort the splendid view.

Beauties of Leningrad, adieu...

XIX

The skilled professional exploders

Ruined Trade Centre in The States.

Sky-scrapers sank within the borders

Of their basements. No aches.

Explosions did not touch the town,

And no ravages around.

All was alleged to terrorists

Disguising the militarists.6

And what if our Russian youths,

Risking security and life,

Explode this scraper to revive

The harmony the town loses?

Oh, "Okhta-scraper" will destroy

All round it. The dangerous toy.

There is no use to scold all over,

New hosts are deaf to our moans.

Let us descend a little lower

Onto the land, we're walking on.

In Warsaw, Helsinki or Paris

Free spots remain never perished

Or gained by construction firms

For some new projects, breaking norms.

And people there rest relaxing

In gardens after working day

Near the homes. Far away

They need not go. We are "progressing":

Wherever can, new buildings rise

Instead of gardens. Is it wise?

XXI

And so the father of Andreyka

Can't recognize familiar place.

Palace of Culture, as he waited,

Had round it more empty space.

It is designed resembling vessels.

The building seems with storms to wrestle,

To fleet along an open sea

(In fact, wide square, as you see).

Years ago he and Mother --

Unmarried, loving, happy ones

Liked dancing halls, and they not once

Near the Palace met each other.

Now the Father sees some new

And alien houses in view.

XXII

Now he is stout, heavy, clumsy

For dancing tango and foxtrot.

Our romantic former fiancИ

By other aim has been brought.

Right near by there are Art Courses

For gifted youngsters. Leading bosses

Run this refined best Art Hall,

Admitting only best, not all.

Inspecting children's exhibitions

Art Hall's Maestro wrote thus:

"Young Sokolov must work with us.

We watch of genius apparition.

War canvas is a splendid work.

Invite his parents for a talk".

XXIII

Russia is weakened, gifts are pining

Today. But never say "we die".

As so far we have such shining

Enthusiasts like this one. Why?

Oh, he rejects all bribes and yessing,

He's only real talents blessing.

He worships, loves them and protects

From any rivals, troubles, wrecks.

He's eager to support them friendly,

He's strict demanding thoughtful work,

He's ready with advice and talk,

Assistance, help and care rending.

To him the father brought today

The set of works by his Andrey.

XXIV

Glance over modern children's drawings.

You will be creepy very soon.

Small kids got blind and ignoring

All beauties under Sun and Moon.

As world is changed by TV-screen,

All kids deceived by it have been.

They kill the beauty with its knife

And simplify the real life.

Not a nice bush -- a green triangle,

All buildings of right square form...

-- Young artist, what is drawn, inform.

-- It's Leningrad. Don't ask, don't tangle.

The childhood is getting blind,

The world for kids is simplified.

XXV

Sword of stagnation, however,

Hurts not all kids, not everyone.

And we successfully endeavoured

To find them, who are not won.

If clever parents safeguarded,

The world is properly regarded,

And their kids remain sane,

As it has happened to Andrey.

The dirt of life with "perestroika",

The loss of aims, common sense

(Which came to us we know whence)

Met in such kid rebuff and boycott.

Saved by his parents and book-shelf

Andrey can keep his own self.

XXVI

Father is waiting for the verdict

Of strict Maestro, who is calm.

Impatience grows in the body

And mind of him, who just has come.

How strange: Maestro treats like wasters

All portraits. Oh, he should be chaster.

In all the portraits little girl

Is charming -- he dislikes them all.

-- This girl, portrayed, has never posed.

Copying photoes is not Art, --

Maestro said. -- It will retard

Your son's development and growth.

But he is gifted. Bring Andrey.

We study every second day.

XXVII

Pa nearly let down sonny

With his unskillful choice of works.

What he liked more turns to be funny,

What he liked less impresses, knocks...

At home he laid out portraits

To glance at them again shortly,

And nice first-former looked at him.

A brilliant portrait. Fine thing.

Is it so bad, if son used photoes?

And how to guess, that they were used?

The poor doctor was confused.

"Never say die!" -- his usual motto

Consoled him. At any rate

He won: Maestro took Andrey.

XXVIII

"Zhenia at nine"... "At eleven"...

Maestro thought them to be waste.

And those two cartoons -- my heaven!

They are the best, of course, the best.

The same girl in them is older,

Her features got more subtle, bolder.

She is well-figured, with wasp waist,

Two bluish curls down her face.

Nobody posed? Unreal features?

But beauty is celestial, bright.

Heavenly girl is made of light.

Unearthly, so impressing creature

On slender heels, in tender gloves,

Whose name's sacred boyish love...

XXIX

From the cartoons and water-colors

Let's turn to every-day routine.

Andrey is looking for his darling,

Eager to find her and win.

From former classmates he knew little.

This touchy girl got loving "Beetles",

Jazz music, dancing at night bar...

She has the new address. It's far.

-- Does Negina attend school studies?--

Romeo asked.

-- She does not. No.

Some lewd small girlies school ignore

And find lovers, rich and muddy.

-- Don't lie! -- he took her old address.

He'll find her. He'll do his best.

XXX

The house of post-war design

Looks like a match for central ones.

Its yard with fountains is fine

And pink of charming eglantines.

Through endless buttons, secret phones,

Allowing ones to live alone,

Romeo reached the cherished door

And rang. And then he rang once more.

And woman, tipsy as a cobbler,

Met him, at last, in the door-way.

With awful news she struck Andrey:

-- I live alone. Zhenka's wobbling.

She changes lovers, her boy-friends.

Such are your modern wrecking trends...

XXXI

"Novelties" of post-Soviet time --

Drinks, brothels, drugs and inner crash --

Can threaten those infantile,

Unintellectual and rash.

But Russian best and brainy persons

Keep far from drinks, and drugs, and brothels,

From foisting ad and empty books,

From Internet's and TV-crooks.

So news on Zhenka's degradation

Shocked my Romeo very hard.

He wants to nip it in the bud,

He must suppress boy-friends invasion,

Not to disdain or ignore,

But to support, protecting her.

XXXII

Those duels for safeguarding honour

Are now bygone. Why to risk?

Putrid morality internal

Is being foisted to live with.

Sex with boy-friends foregoes wedding,

Among the youth it's now spreading,

And may be Zhenechka's boy-friend

Is not the worst as happy-end?

Andrey will serve her, love and comfort

Like her security and guard,

No matter, if she is in mud

Or on the top of life, so bumpy.

But how to seek her and to catch?

A letter... Will her mother fetch?

XXXIII - XXXIV

"I think, you are amazed, my Zhenia,

That I am seeking you at last.

My Pa and Ma were strictly banning

All slightest contacts between us.

We can't return our green years.

You have forgotten me, I fear.

But I remember MY FOUR WORDS,

Since then I thought of them and thought.

I grew encouraged with the dream

That we would meet at school again,

Despite the bans, and storms, and rains.

For Pa and Ma there dangers seemed...

They severed me, but since that year

You're in my heart, like sister dear.

I grew so thoroughly protected

From vital things, now mixed with mud.

My Art became the single sector

For me in modern Leningrad.

You took life better, in more spheres,

I am naive for you, I fear.

But I am eager to repeat

"I love you" (as it wrote one kid...).

Forgetting you? Above me, girly.

I don't pretend you to respond.

The single thing I now want

Is kissing land, on which you're strolling.

I've written, as I could. Excuse,

If I disturbed you or confused."

XXXV

He added his address, the number

Of his mobile telephone,

The code of their porch and humbugged

Himself: "It will be read, not thrown".

He dreams of their friendly meeting.

His Zhenka must be moved, when reading.

...Pink eglantines in the yard

Encourage him. He won't retard.

And tipsy woman welcomes heartily.

She has no beauty, no grace,

But when a smile lights her face,

Then it resembles Zhenka partly.

She takes his letter: "But, you see,

I seldom meet your addressee".

XXXVI

An utter fool! He ought to know

How often Zhenka visits Ma.

Ma says, her daughter does not show

Her new address, as it is far.

Her friend's at wheel, he brings Ma products.

He's always sober. It's so oddest.

And Zhenka does not drink a bit.

With what is busy? Homely sits.

Uncertain news... But no panic,

Romeo. It's your iron rule.

Don't be as nervous, as a fool.

Be patient, wait, and no polemic.

Despite all hardships and routine

He waits: she'll call or come and ring...

XXXVII

In the receiver of his phone

The voice was quite unknown, strange.

For what, on earth, this baritone?

What is he eager to arrange?

-- Edward? But you are not familiar

To me. You will not protest, will you?

I want to stop this sudden talk,

I've got a very urgent work.

What? Oh, I see who is on wire.

I? Fear you?! Don't tell the trash.

Appoint time, I'm rash,

No matter busy, ill or tired.

Today at six? But where, where?

Near metro? At "Vosstaniya Square"?

XXXVIII

A silly one. You gave the promise

To meet unknown outlaw.

Was not it right -- with words ironic

To stop the talk, and no more?

Not duel frightens, but betrayal

Of Pa and Ma, if friends or mail

Inform them of his early death

With rival's bullet in the breast.

What's he, perverted friend of Zhenka?

A bandit? A perfidious beast?

He wants to meet and he insists.

For what, if not for fighting? Thank you,

Mad jealous idiot, retreat:

I have no wish to fight and beat.

XXXIX

Matvey Lukich, his dear tutor...

The pupil's death will strike him, will!

He gave Andrey much skills and beauty,

The stupid duel can them kill...

But stop. Are you so deadly frightened?

Shame! Real love's with boldness lightened.

You aren't a kid, but seventeen.

You are a male: go and win.

Or lose, if rivals are in favour,

But lose with honour, like a man,

If you have done all, what you can,

And was unlucky your endeavour.

Don't be too cautious, shy and tame

And look not winking at the flame!

Off all the doubts, so disgraceful.

Are you a suckling or a male?

Are you a knight, courageous, faithful

Or a shy lamb, born just to fail?

Those Russian fellows, age ago,

Did not decide to stay or go.

And duels told who's right or wrong.

So he must risk and must be strong.

Let she, beloved and fair lady,

Who reigns alone in the heart

Come mourning to the grave-yard.

I'll die for her. Oh, I am ready,

Even with all above in view

I'm ready. "ZHENIA, I LOVE YOU...".

CHAPTER III

Russia is hiding from the offsprings

Place-names of the Soviet time. 1

If not to hide and not to cross them,

They will of Soviet feats remind.

Them, who had worked for revolutions,

Today we drown in pollutions:

Let he be damned, forgotten, dead,

If he had moved his land ahead.

Those Hertsens, Saltikovs, Zheliabovs

Gave their names to the streets.

The names are changed, you cannot read

Them anywhere (shame and trouble...).

But there's a square in the town,

Which keeps its name up to now.

Square of "Vosstaniya" (Uprising)

Is named like in Soviet days.

And just to it is now riding

Our untiring Andrey.

No red flags, which could encourage

The Soviet people (and would worry

New-Russian thieves, who prosper, breed

And blacken former Soviet deeds).

But name itself tells of the vigour

Inside the Russian toiling men.

To have the Soviet life again

They are impatient, wishing, eager.

And this place-name promise hope

For social health on our globe.

III

Andrey upbraids himself. Oh, blunder!

How can he Edward recognize?

He had to ask him and to wonder

What he would wear -- colour, size...

A lot of males scurry round

With bellies -- huge, out of bounds,

Resembling pumped and big balloons,

Like in American cartoons.2

Awful, abominable public,

Degraded, not resembling men,

But fatty swines in a pen.

Is Zhenechka's boy-friend so ugly?

With not a bit of strength and grace,

With such a sleepy, thoughtless face?

Among disgusting "biomasses"

There are some normal people. They

Look pleasant, not too fat and massive.

To one of them came up Andrey.

-- Sorry, you seem for someone waiting.

May be, for me? Aren't you Eddy?

-- No. You are mistaken, sir,

As my first-name is Yegor,

I'm waiting not for you, of course --

A chum must bring my drug, my dose.3

Have you to smoke, by the way?

-- No, I have none, -- replied Andrey.

The lad stepped off, displeased and grim.

Andrey with pain looked at him.

Another one. He's tall and stooping.

Like apron, flabby belly hangs.

Pectoral cross, so funny looking,

Tattoo from elbows to his hands.4

He seems to move straight to Romeo,

Who meets him with disdain and fear:

-- Are you Vitaliy?

-- I'm Andrey.

And tattooed monster gets away.

"For what can live such ugly dandies

Of the post-Soviet rotten days? --

Amazing, thinks of him Andrey. --

That one is young, no more, than twenty...

Can charming Zhenechka love him,

Who so ugly, clownish seems?"

Where are you, former bright, inspired,

Inspirited with hopes YOUTH?

New time no romance requires,

And modern youth its vigour lose... ___

Not all so far. And not for ever

We'll last the fruitless wrong endeavour

To copy foreign specimen

In Russia, special from within.

What we achieve is quite unworthy

Of our past, of former feats.

With people, crowding the streets,

My town cannot feel quite cosy...

May be, Andrey feels such disdain,

As he has come, but quite in vain?

VII

At last, where's Edward, so perfidious,

Or he had jeered at Andrey?

How long will last this waiting tedious?

Enough. Andrey will go away.

But stop! Be patient, you're a male.

Not calls, not telegrams or mail

Can help in your intrinsic case:

You need the meeting face-to-face.

Wait. Look around at the girlies.

Half-naked, all with withered flesh,

With piercing, paints, other trash 5

They are so self-conceited, jolly.

They raise disgust, if near huddling,

In all. And in an artist -- doubly...

VIII

Jeep stops. Its driver moves upstairs

And sees Romeo by the hall.

He's thirty-five or thirty-seven.

Smart. Looking proudly at all.

He condescends to this green suckling,

As he himself had lost his darling,

Rejecting poverty and love,

Valuing money all above.

His choice took place so long ago,

But he recalled it, and not once.

Now he meets a funny chance:

Reality his past has shown.

Why not to meet romantic boy,

To play with him, like with a toy?

-- Andrey? And you are meeting Edward?

-- That's me, -- Romeo yessed his words.

-- Let's go somewhere, ahead-ward,

We'll find there quiet spots.

And in a yard they settled friendly

To speak, not foisting and not trampling,

With no grudges or pretence,

With no reproaches or offence.

Alas! What's that? Acutest dagger

Got taken out by "the friend",

The latter neared his armed hand

To boyish breast, like drunken beggar

Or like a bandit-terrorist,

Such modern fierce heartless beast.

-- Why have you stopped? -- Andrey asked boldly,

The dagger slightly touching him.

He kept himself and spoke coldly,

With no panic, as it seemed:

-- Please, either hide your toy again--

Or act! And cut my breast and veins,

And all beneath, and all above.

I die for single girl I love.

-- My boy, you are a real male! --

The partner hid his dangerous knife. --

Let's now sit and speak on life,

I wished to frighten you, but failed.

With such a boy I'd like to speak,

As you are bold, you are a brick!

-- I want to speak on Zhenka's studies,

She must renew forsaken school, --

Andrey began.

-- Forget the muddy

Old freaks, the backward Soviet rules:

All studies aren't for females.

If knows much, a woman fails

In her subduing to a man.

She must be tame, like a hen.

-- No. Any male or female --

A person -- must be skilled at work,

To bring more use to native folk

And proudly to future sail.

If one is useless, then for what

Has he his life? For what has got?

XII

-- What use? You make me laugh, my dear.

We live to comfort ourselves.

And we may work in any sphere,

If our sphere gives us wealth.

-- What is your job?

-- Mine? Pornofilming.

-- Can it enrich folk's brain, feelings?

What can it give for our land,

And future generations, and...

-- For global social institutions?

-- Not that -- for Motherland, for Russia.

-- Your Russia is in mud, in marshes,

It lives thanks to its prostitution,

It has today no plants and farms,

No science, sports and no arms...

XIII

-- How dare you? Did I mishear?

-- You heard the truth, my silly child.

Just look around you, my dear:

Your Russia's rotten all inside.

Is it producing now? No.

It is half-sleepy, lazy, slow.

It sells its nature to survive,

Abroad its wood and oil drive.

It lags behind the evolution,

Your former mighty Soviet land.

Its nature -- that is what it lends,

Its single way is prostitution.

-- Shut up! -- quick blow with the fist

Shut up the mouth of the beast.

XIV

It was quite new, to beat a villain

For our calm restrained boy.

But he got wild, crazy, willing

To hurt, to prey and to destroy.

All Edward's face got red of bleeding,

But angry boy was not conceding:

Hurt very hard within his heart,

He butts, he kicks despite the blood.

Some lookers-on came up for gazing,

They brought a cop to stop the fight.

They told: "The elder one is right,

The youngster raised the outraging.

Arrest, please, the nasty suckling

And let him sit in prison darkly".

The cop had handcuffed our bully

To take him to the Civil Court.

The pretty end of their duel,

Of which Andrey had thought a lot.

But Edward stepped to the policeman

And to his ear calmly whispered:

"Don't punish him: unfair game --

Not he, but I was more to blame.

I was too rude, I scorned his mother,

And he, the son, could not excuse.

Do, set him free, why to abuse?

Both you and I for him are fathers."

The cop considered the request

And set the bully go and rest.

XVI

Our two partners are alone

(The lookers-on forsook the place).

Andrey had quieted his own,

Edward has wiped the blood from face.

-- You can be honest, -- told the younger, --

And worthy of respect. I wonder...

Let's speak on Zhenka, on her way.

How to save her? -- asked Andrey. --

And has she read my little letter?

-- No, she has not seen it yet.

She will be very glad, I bet:

She likes me, but she loves you better.

I try to grasp, what man you are,

If your relation goes far.

XVII

-- And are you married or you aren't?

-- Aren't, of course. Am I a fool?

-- Then... why together? Are you barmy

Of sex, according to new rules?

-- Your views are from the Soviet time

"Sovok" (your shovel) made a crime 6

Of sex for pleasure. Bear kids,

Like silly flora: live and seed.

-- It is the classic happy pattern

For human beings, -- said Andrey. --

Bring up your kids. What can be better?

You call that primitive and bad

And offer fruitless sex instead?

XVIII

-- We live to cherish our own,

All future problems aren't for us.

For Paradise, in future shown,

Have worked the parents, trustful Pups.

Our new motto's making money.

Not labour, but amusement. Honey!

This motto is for our taste,

And let your future go to waste.

Look here! -- Edward took some pictures

Out of his smart modern purse:

-- You recognized your girl?

-- Of course.

Enchanting and divine creature.

Her lines, her touching naked forms

Of inner purity inform...

XIX

Andrey's an artist: naked nature

And woman's body is not new

For him. But pornocards are fetching

His tears. No dress or suit

Can decorate these Zhenka's lines,

So perfect, exquisite and fine.

And not a trace of any dirt

In her undress. But charm. A lot.

Andrey is gazing at her photoes

And taking them to his hot lips,

Then says: "Do shoot, or beat me, whip --

I won't return them. She's my motto."

-- So never say, that pornocards

Bring nothing good for brains and hearts.

-- I have got limp of Zhenka's beauty,

Let's speak on her, her further life.

She is a person with her duties,

She must be lady, mother, wife.

Besides all that, she ought to master

Some trade, profession, not to fasten

Her gifts in ignorance to dwell.

Skills, not her body she must sell.

-- Silly romance. It's empty chatter,

Worthy of stupid Bolsheviks.

I am a male and a brick.

Let all females serve my matters.

-- Do you love her?

-- So far, she suits.

Why being passionate, like you?

XXI

-- And will you show her my letter?

-- I will. But can you earn, support

Your woman? It's the main matter

If one makes money or does not.

-- The next six years I must study...

-- And shabby, penniless and muddy

You will exist with dreams of love

And abstract beauty all above?

-- Oh, may be, may be. I decided

To leave my trace in Art, in life.

Let to the same strives my wife,

Let our views won't be divided,

And we will move to our aim.

I think, that Zhenka wants the same.

XXII

-- Supposing, we'll divorce for ever.

I've changed my women and not once.

Ideas, dreams can't feed us. Never.

You'll meet the poverty and trance.

-- But none is dying of starvation

Even today in our nation.

I'll work, work much, with no rest,

Be sure, I'll do my best.

-- Oh, crazy suckling.

-- Am I? No.

-- The offspring of the Soviet trend.

Your damned "Sovok" has met its end

And you to Soviet failures go.

-- I live for labour and for love.

-- I live for pleasures. That's enough.

XXIII

They parted. But they knew each other's

Plans, platforms, aims, views and tastes.

Not all today see somewhat farther,

Than their nose, but act and haste...

What are his Zhenka's sacred aims?

And has she them? Are they the same

With his: to give his own self

To people, not to please himself.

And first of all she ought to study,

To gain useful trade and skills,

To have creative ways and wills

And to forget her business muddy.

"And firstly let her read my letter, --

He thought, -- and then all other matters".

XXIV

The Arts Academy's suggesting

To pass its entering exams.

School-leavers all are being tested

And enters happiest of them.

He, who to study painting wishes,

Must make still-lives and compositions,

And drawings, and receive good marks

Thanks to his gift and to his luck.

Andrey was lucky and admitted

To this prestigious institute,

As all his marks were "very good"

(Thanks to Lukich he was well-fitted).

His future route has got installed.

But Zhenka... Zhenka has not called...

XXV

August invites to gather mushrooms.

And mushroom-hunters strive to wood;

To its fresh air, singing thrushes

More, than to better their food.

Enjoying nature in its beauty,

Absence of traffic, swift and brutal,

Call tired citizen to rest,

To leave his noisy urban nest.

The Sokolovs, adults and sonny,

Every weekend are in the wood.

Such rest is fine, refreshing, good

For human nerves, though wants small money.

An hour in electric train --

And they can strength and vigour gain.

XXVI

They can enjoy enchanting silence

Of wise and dreamy pine-trees,

Woodpeckers' pretty knocking violence,

Red jumping squirrels, gay and free.

And if the baskets are half-empty,

They never worry: nature's plenty

Soaks through all their own selves

And souls, through its hidden valves.

And they forget the television,

Computer with exhausting screens.

The calm and beauty, they have seen,

Fill their body, mind and vision.

As nature gives them joy and health,

The incomparable wealth.

XXVII

-- Let's mark, Andrey, your great success, --

Suggested at the halt his father. --

They were nerve-racking, more or less,

All your exams for me and mother.

With mayonnaise are salads flavoured

(Mother's response to father's raving),

From bottles corks jumped to the sky,

Filled glasses wait for being dried.

But suddenly mobile phone

Cried in the pocket of Andrey.

He left the picnic, ran away

Not to be heard, to speak alone.

He hopes to hear dear voice.

Oh, will it grieve him or rejoice?

XVIII

-- Hello, Andriusha. That's me, Zhenia, --

She told, all being at a loss. --

I've read your letter, and its tenor

Brought hard, regretful thoughts, of course.

-- Why? -- asked Andrey. For long she's silent

Then says: -- Life makes us rude and violent...

Life trod my youth, it is not kept.

I'd read your letter and I wept.

-- Of what?

-- My Pa is killed and buried,

Ma drinks, she is in dreadful state,

And what am I? Street walker... Late

To be respected, loved and married.

I am unworthy of your way.

So forget of me, Andrey.

XXIX

-- Zheniulia! Who is happy now?

Life got abnormal round us.

You cannot just imagine, how

I'm glad to hear you at last.

I've got acquainted with Eddy

And he took in, that I am ready

To be your silent, quiet friend

Even with no courtship trend.

I'm in the wood, among the trees,

So audibility is hardened.

Let's interrupt, I beg your pardon.

Recall me later, do agree.

Promise to call and I will wait

And glorify this happy date.

XXX

Andrey returned to their picnic

And felt: the parents heard his talk.

Pa tries to hide his smile quickly,

Ma does not hide her wrath at all:

-- Again Zhenka. Oh, my goddess. --

She says in rage.

-- My life, my body,

Soul and gifts belong to her,

Whatever angry parents were, --

Parried Andrey. -- Let's mark, however,

As your half-crazy grown fool

Has realized his sacred pull,

So lucky in his hard endeavour.

-- Your health and luck! -- the doctor said

And dried the paper glass he held.

XXXI

All modern food got nasty now,

But wood awakens appetites.

In wood we never mourn about

The Soviet table, wise and bright.

We do not damn the foreign dishes,

Which spoil our taste and wishes.

In wood we praise imported food,

Which is disgusting, but intrudes...

Dogs sniff and cannot eat new sausage,

Fruits don't resemble former ones...

Our young offsprings lose the chance

To treat new food as waste and spoilage.

At picnics even it is good

And we enjoy bad modern food.

XXXII

Small drinks urge our reminiscence.

At halts the parents of Andrey

Recalled the harvesting traditions

For students of the Soviet days.

School-leavers, who became students,

Never were softies, lazy, prudent.

They were laborious and strong-willed,

They all were being sent to fields

To gather harvest with state-farmers,

Helping the friends of country-side,

Whose endless fields, so long and wide,

Brought ample harvest, grown in summer.

The students worked in cool and rain

Farms' works were liked and not disdained.

XXXIII

The students' life lacked proper care

From them, who organized campaigns.

Some students worked too long somewhere,

Some worked at night, some worked in rain.

But friendly work for native country

Brought pride and joy to Soviet youngsters.

Were hardships able to insult?

Students got stronger, more adult.

Compared to the modern youngsters,

Those were more vigorous and gay,

Were more athletic, and away

Went all complaints, moans, tantrums.

Will modern students work in fields?

By no means. Nobody wills...

XXXIV

For whom to work? And where, where?

The land belongs to wealthy thieves,

Fields stand forsaken everywhere.

And harvest? Who in it believes?

No rye, no oats or potato --

Instead grow bars with lazy waiters.

No children's camps, all free of pay,

Inherited from Soviet days...

Three hundred camps of Soviet years

Have been sold up to wealthy hosts,7

So every pass for children costs

Much more, than parents can it bear.

Will our fine country-side

Keep all the future kids aside?

XXXV

-- Today my Russia is not valid:

From Paradise we've jumped to Hell, --

The doctor sighed. He ate his salad

And went to gather chanterelles.

Mushrooms rejoiced. Hello, boletus!

Thanks for your pliable admittance,

How pleasant is your orange cap.

We cut you, but you haven't wept.

Oh, edible boletus, bravo.

Russules are junior for it.

And though for cooking rather fit,

Before boletus all must bow.

And you, in brown caps two twins,

Jump to the basket, live within.

XXXVI

How often small rejoicing trifles

Hide our tragedies and bane.

The latter lie beneath, much tightened.

The former comfort, entertain.

Caught pikes bring joy to lucky fishers,

Toys satisfy young children wishes,

Full baskets, gathered in the wood,

Make all around gay and good.

The Sokolovs move back to trains,

A little tired, but so fresh.

Three fine baskets aren't a trash,

They smile again and again.

The outing was such a boon!

And their train will be soon.

XXXVII

At home Mum and son are peeling

The mushrooms. No talk and noise.

How he is wanting, how willing

To hear Zhenka's dear voice!

Ma's silent. But her eyes' expression

Tells of her worry, seeks compassion.

It's pain for her to see the son

With this unworthy, dirty one.

Andrey comes up, embraces Mummy

And says: "Be quiet, I'm all right,

Your son can tell, what's black or white,

No misery to him is coming."

And mother smiles, much relieved

By consolation she received.

XXXVIII

The word "a tube" meant "courage, valour",

But valiant horns have passed away,

Romance is trodden. Sorry-sellers,

We sold romance in our days.

And "tube" now means "mobile phone".

Each strives to use it and to own

For tittle-tattle, empty talks

At home, at idle work, at walks.

Of radiation from these phones,

Radio-waves, destroying brains,

Making mankind half-insane

Nickola Tesla knew alone.8

Great Tesla, age ago, warned:

He the Tunguska's banks upturned.9

XXXIX

But his Siberian explosion

Stopped nobody, corrected none.

No one today is somewhat cautious

And has "mobilnik" everyone.

And Internet, which came untimely,

Is spread today, and very widely,

As if the modern earthians' strive's --

To reach the end, not to survive.

But all destructive radiation

Dims in the flame of real love.

Zhenka is calling! And above

All frights is young and mighty passion.

The charming sounds of her voice

Bring consolation and rejoice.

-- Andrey? We ought to meet together.

Don't think, that I am foisting. No.

I want to ask... to know, whether

You'll come to my assistance, so...

So move to Mummy's porch right now.

And here I'll tell you, how

You'll, may be, help me. Urgent aid!

You'll come? Oh, thank you. I'll wait.

You now live for Art and glory,

I am in dirt, not matching you.

The former friendship can't renew,

I simply want your help, if (sorry)

You won't disdain dealing with

The people, socially beneath...

CHAPTER IV

I, II, III, IV, V, VI

...............................................................

VII

How swift are Underground trains!

With lightning speed they fly ahead.

We gain ground, time gain,

Having developed Metro-net.

Unprecedented new achievements

Bring both stresses and relievements:

Virulent waves of different kind

Inflict the space and the mankind.

And yet the wise creating Nature

Has made the people for the good.

Not to destroy themselves like brutes,

Not knowing, what they want and catching.

But Earth needs thorough intellect

To watch the progress and inspect.

VIII

Thus was Romeo speculating,

While escalators brought him up.

He rose and saw what he was waiting:

The traffic "jam"... Like helpless scrubs,

All drivers suffer in the Lorries

And cars. Men, women, young and hoary,

Curse the d... d cars they have to drive.

Who can enjoy them and abide?

A car, with its saloon so tightest,

Usually carries one (at wheel).

Such single "passenger" can deal

With a long train, swift and mightiest.

When will humanity refuse

From auto-traffic, its abuse?

But all is lucky. "Jams" behind

Are left. Andrey is on the spot.

He the familiar porch must find

And little bench to sit a lot.

But where is it, his bunch of flowers?

He has forgotten all about

The proper ethics with a girl,

His duty and his male's role.

The rosy eglantines around?

To pick them? No, they aren't the same.

They won't excuse his shameful blame,

They will be funny, out of bounds.

"I am an idiot, -- he thought, --

As no bunch for her have brought".

Here she is. She's quickly walking.

Not in his dreams, but real one.

Don't hurry. As your knight is locking

His heart for all, but you. Don't run.

Zhenka! And ethics, habits, manners

All fled aside. Romeo cannot

Believe himself, his own eyes,

That life has granted such surprise.

Not real life -- it is a tale,

Fairy tale from his dreams.

The evening yard around seems

To be a Paradise in veil...

He rises, ready to allow

Kissing her fingers with a bow.

He looks at Zhenka. She's the same,

Despite the years lived apart.

Such as in sleeps she often came,

Such as was living in his heart.

Her eyes, dark-blue, with deep expression,

Pathetic, raising one's compassion,

Tell of her purity and strength,

Dwelling inside, God knows whence.

But figure, delicate and frail,

Raises protection and delight,

Rousing all jealous women's spite,

Making half-crazy every male.

These features have not dimmed away

(If aren't invented by Andrey).

XII

She's dressed with no affectation,

Which his binoculars once brought,

Which now hurts the sight and patience,

Which Russia copies from abroad.

No silly words on all her clothes,

No ugly faces, which are worthy

Of prostitutes, not normal folk,

Though we meet them wherever walk.1

Her sweater clings to her slim figure,

No cosmetic, other trash,

To which young modern women rash.

She gives delight, and joy, and vigour.

We, people, very often must

Have something from remote past...

XIII

-- You are quite different. You're a giant!

-- And you have grown up a bit.

And all my guts I was applying

To find you. And I have hit!

Andrey is very much encouraged

To see the girl, of whom he worried,

Despite the slander and the lies.

Devouring her with thirsty eyes,

He seats her for the conversation

Near the porch, on garden bench.

They both speak on their wrench,

On years of the separation.

They are restrained, even shy,

Unable touch each other. Why?

XIV

-- I used to think... I thought and suffered

Recalling school and you, Andrey,

When nothing grieved us, nothing buckled.

Those happy days have passed away...

Oh, I myself have called the banes,

Which strike me now and again.

I had to know, what was good

And what was shameful, vicious, lewd.

School "dancing" club made children wanton:2

One step -- and you're a prostitute.

And life among the modern brutes

Is awful, though at first they fondle.

My mother drank, we badly starved.

What could I sell, but venal love?

-- Don't weep! -- he's tenderly embracing

His goddess like his native one. --

Not one -- with me you will be facing

All nuisances whatever run.

I'll try to come to your assistance

To warm your soul and existence.

My life in Arts gives scanty earn,

But not for money we are born.

I can pick up some job, potboiling...

We'll pay for treatment of your Mum.

-- No, modern medicine wants big sums...

-- But I don't fear any toiling,

I'm not a softie -- fine lad!

I'll work for you and will be glad.

XVI

-- Leave that. For ever leave, my dear,

Go on your chosen way in Art.

May I withstand and interfere?

No. Our ways must lie apart.

What's me? A rag on people's way,

So paltry, scorned by all and swayed.

I've crossed myself and therefore

My partner's Edward, no more.

-- Are you in love with him?

-- Love? Never.

This is not high and real love

With dear object all above:

To comfort lewdness we endeavour.

But Ed has merits.

-- Which ones?

-- Such:

Not beating me, not drinking much.

XVII

-- And all your life, like timid servant,

Having no own strives beyond,

You'll have to last. It's torture, burden

With him, of who you aren't fond...

-- No future plans are in my bounds.

But soon Ed has to leave the town

For Thailand, for some bargains there.

He takes me always everywhere.

I worry greately of my mother.

She drinks. She will of hunger die.

Can you protect her and supply

With some provision, like my brother,

Visiting her every three days?

-- Yes, I will do that, -- said Andrey.

XVIII

-- Three hundred thousands. Take the money

And spend it for some normal food

To be delivered to my Mummy,

My poor drunkard must be good.

-- This sum belongs to Edward?

-- No,

It's mine, my secret. Must he know,

How I've gained it and whence?

And let it serve my Mummy hence.

-- The money's earned by you on pavements?

-- Oh, does it matter, where and whence?

If we are paid, we work. And then

Each work is hard, not entertainments.

Don't give the money to my Mum

And if she asks, be deaf and dumb.

XIX

And she went off. Oh, Russian women!

With independence first of all,

With no caution, always willing

To move the boat to its goal.

It's fine of her, that all her money

She left for her degraded Mummy.

Not every child would do such thing

For parents, who drink and drink.

She's trodden by her evil epoch,

The unprotected tender child,

Met by the life, so cold and wild,

And pushed to mud, disgusting, ribald.

Soviet community had gone,

And nothing good instead was born...

It's long before the golden autumn

Will gild the foliage in the parks,

But pools got cool from top to bottom,

And days got short, and evenings dark.

We stopped all swimming and sun-bathing.

It rains, we are umbrellas raising,

Or sit at home, like in cells,

And feel: "Red summer, farewell..."

But he is far from autumn pining,

Who stormed the chosen institute,

Was tested, and his marks are good

To be admitted. He is shining!

The joy is to his heart intruding,

Encouraging: "You are a student."

XXI

Student... This rank ceased giving honour.

It ceased since our newest time.

What made of students silly donors?

The paid admittance, modern crime!

It's not a bribe -- legalization,

The shame for our Russian nation.

No knowledge? Oh, why is it bad?

You'll be a student, pay instead.

The pseudo-students know nothing,

Their diplomas tell of none.

No professions have been done

In institutes, through which they're passing.

The money has been paid in vain:

The idlers can't perfect the brain...

XXII

The Arts Academy, however,

Can't value money best of all.

Without its exams you never

Will step inside its sacred halls.

Money is paid as an exception

By him, whose gift wants high protection,

But, by occasion, met bad luck

And has received improper mark.

Academy of best traditions

Tries to withstand the new routine,

To be what it has always been,

To carry out its high mission.

It is respected. Therefore

It has bright students, as before.

XXIII

The newcomers to our town

Please aboriginal Andrey.

They aren't degraded and sunk down,

They all are vigorous and gay.

No familiarity in manners,

No empty idleness in tenor,

No ugly foreign garment on,

No vulgar words in lexicon.

Museums, Arts of different nations

Attract and interest all of them.

Such is the goal, main trend.

Not shops are their destination.

Far from the centers they have kept

Intelligence, in cities rapped.

XXIV

And thereat it's quite unclear

Why new Art-shows weaken, dim.

In them we often see unreal

Primitive daub -- that's what they seem.

Among the daubs we meet, however,

Part of the artists, who endeavour

To keep traditions of the past,

Not to descend to fads and lust.

Such as Gukasov, Povilitza,

As both Cheskidovs (girl and Mum), 3

And even new and younger some

Don't let the Arts traditions wither.

They criticize the daubs, disdaining,

With realistic school remaining.

XXV

The pure truth, the modern problems

Fediunin brings to Russian Art,

Who's far from new its fads and hobbling,

The knight of real Art, its bard.4

Such real artists co-exist

With faddists, working but for beasts.

And what could cause abnormal bends

Rousing all these evil trends?

All novelties of our time

Aim to cross off the glorious Past,

To kill the self-respect and trust,

And faith in justice (social crime...).

That's why the former realism

They alter for the new "faddism".

XXVI

The way to progress is so spiral,

It's far from being very straight.

We are in our days surviving

In Russia not its first decay.

Keen social problems aren't reflected

In modern canvases. Protected

Are empty sketches. Is it right?

What can we change from our side?

We are but lookers-on, not teachers.

We see: some landscapes are quite fine

Good both in colours and design.

Portraits are strong with truthful features.

But no pictures, which can tell

Way out from the modern hell...

XXVII

"What must determine tends for painters? --

Andrey endeavoured to decide --

(The problem, earlier or later,

Each master thinks upon inside).

His gift? His striving to career?

His taste?" The answer was unclear.

Matvey Lukich, his former tutor,

At once the explanation suited:

-- The views of life and social duty

Have to determine artist's trend.

His gift by life to him was lent,

Returning debt he's executing.

-- The social progress is just which

Must challenge artists, -- said Lukich.

XXVIII

All the Academy's new students

Dream: "Pictures call the folk ahead."

But life soon cools them, making prudent,

And does not lead them high, as led...

At first they master mixing paints

To be more skilled and better trained.

Then comes necessity to earn

And to provide the living on.

Then love. And marriage. Unprotected

By state, as it had been before,

They are half-starving. Therefore

The dreams of youth get ineffective.

They seek pecuniary work,

Dependable as living-stock.

XXIX

The readers take me on the phrases:

What's that -- pecuniary work?

Is it rebukes, reproaches raising?

Must it one's gift and genius lock?

Are there answers "yes" or "no"

To ticklish questions? I don't know

How to answer. But today

Interest in culture fades away.

New pseudo-Arts touch no feelings.

The masters of creative trades

Today are very badly paid.

Big Arts can't live, with market dealing:

Money attracts them to survive

And to support half-hungry life.

XXX

Great Maxim Gorkiy, Soviet writer,

Had warned his comrades-Bolsheviks

(And he was hundred times righter):

People aren't equal, like some bricks.

The state must cherish gifted people,

Protect them, grunt them payment triple,

Never equating to the rest:

They are the special ones, the best.

They are the pride of their nation,

They work and glorify itself.

Don't place them on the same shelf

With others. Criminal equation.

Alas! Today we tread the gifts

And have the giftless younger shifts...

XXXI

As a result mass Arts are pining,

They entertain and no more,

Not urging vigour, not refining

Souls of people. Therefore

Painting dims, though it is neutral.

But new variety got brutal,

But songs, much foisted all of us,

Call to immoral lust and brass.

Who pulls the youngsters to the marshes,

Far from the mental health and ways?

Have we got putrid, led away,

Have we forgotten former marches?

It's from abroad, this evil cable,

Which kills with pounce and church's fables.

XXXII

Decay of spirits very often

Is visible for all of us.

This social problem, hard and lofty,

Is being among youth discussed.

In students disputes hot Marina

Can offer quick and witty reasons.

She proves, that human life includes

Not only strives to lust and food.

That Arts have to encourage people

For noble actions, honest gusts,

To better all and each of us,

And not to spoil and to cripple.

The Arts must fill all human souls

With kindness, vigour. Such's the goal.

XXXIII

Marina pleases young Romeo

With her bright nature, clever speech.

The two of them discuss whatever

Uncertain can the minds reach.

She is a Jewess by the nation,

But criticizes with all passion

New Nickonov's immoral book,5

His hidden anti-human hook.

-- Haven't you read this bright slop-pail,

This evil book? -- she asked Andrey.

He had not read, but had to say,

That heard a lot of wicked tales.

He heard, that this unusual author

Propagandizes lust and brothels.

XXXIV

-- Not only that, -- Marina quickly

Opens the volume at bookmark. --

Is not it wrong, disgusting, sickly?

Just listen, how this author larks:

"Jews, only Jews are real Russians".6

But other nations? He is brushing

Away all Tatars and Buryats,

And Russian people's great van-guard.

Exalting Jews, he seeds discredit

And national enmity with us.

It has been practised in the past,

On the pet corn he's now treading.

Why is it published, cunning book,

Bringing its evil hidden hook?

XXXV

Why? Censorship is now canceled.

We've lost this necessary rule.

He, who has money, takes a pencil

And writes a book, though he's a fool.

That's why new Russia reads them badly,

Cultural level's lowing, fading,

And our people, bright and keen,

Are not today, what they have been.

"Folk is the essence of the globe,

Its honour, prestige and its pride", --

The famous poet Block did write

More than a century ago.

Now Nickonov states new design:

"Folk is but herd of stupid swines".7

XXXVI

This dispute further was at home.

Andrey brought 3 just-gained books

By Nickonov:

-- Say, if you know

This fecund author? Come and look, --

He called his parents.

-- No, -- the father

Rejected books. -- Read something other.

He is a cheat and cunning one,

I don't suggest to read him, son.

-- I disagree, -- his wife objected. --

This author has unmasked the church: 8

To truth he aimed to approach

New-born believers, shy, defected.

-- Yes, he withstood religious bane,

But puzzling questions rise, again.

XXXVII - XXXVIII

......................................................

.......................................................

XXXIX

-- Which ones?

-- Your wizard, such all-knowing,

Hurts Leninizm -- mocks, blackens bites.

Hatred to socialism is flowing

Through all, whatever wizard writes.

So he neglects, that Soviet Russia

Got rid of church's evil marshes,

Which are devouring human brain,

Which are the worst delirious bane.

Human potencial, inner talent--

For them were fighting Bolsheviks,

Won now by diversions, tricks,

Disguised for freedoms, high and gallant.

Your wizard calls to money-grubbing,

Not to creative work and striding.

Andrey was silent, unprepared

To argue with his Dad and Mum.

-- Today Marina read me, where

This author hurts me, let be d...d.

Mum got excited:

-- What Marina?

The girl, to whom you're products bringing?

(All their disputing, so high,

Was stopped at once and put aside), --

-- Dad! Be attentive, -- Mum insisted. --

It's time for you to interfere,

A certain girl, so nasty, queer,

Fleeces your son, exploiting, twisting.

Eh, Mummy. You are very far

From sonny's ever-lighting star.

XLI

The doctor told: "We want seclusion,

We have to speak like man to man".

-- OK. I need not an intrusion, --

Said Mum. -- Speak as you want and can.

She left: she cooked pan-cakes for dinner.

"Let father teach his silly sinner, --

She thought. -- Young kids give us small care,

More grown ones want better flair..."

-- Believe me, father, -- said the sonny:

Marina is my friend, no more.

She lives with parents. Therefore

She cannot want my help and money.

Whom I protect is drinking one,

Degraded woman, not so young.

XLII

-- You frighten me, my dear baby.

-- Not what you mean, and don't suspect.

Am I resembling idle, flabby

Young twaddler, losing self-respect?

-- According to the modern habit

You play pre-marriage sex, my baby.

It's shame for me, your hoary father,

A painful blow for your mother.

-- You are all wrong. As only Zhenka

Dwelt, dwells and will be in my heart.

You "saved" me from her "spoilt blood",

We parted. But Romeo lanky

Keeps her, meanwhile, in his breast

And loves for ever, up to death.

XLIII

Going abroad she gave me money

To come, once every 2-3 days,

And bring provision to her Mummy,

While she herself is far away.

Her mother drinks and drinks for years.

What if to treat her? Is it real?

Can medicine help "alcoholist",

Degraded like a shabby beast?

-- More often treatment is quite fruitless.

-- Why not to try? Let's try and risk,

And save from horrible abyss,

Pulling her down fast and brutally.

-- You want to see her mother saved.

Who'll give the money to be paid?

XLIV

-- I can pick up some small potboiling

And pay for treatment, cannot I?

I'm strong and I don't fear toiling.

You smile, father. Why? Why? Why?

You pushed her off, like dirty kitten.

You did not think, how hard and bitter

The life of poor Zhenka was,

Making survive, degrade and toss.

And I myself? Protected, cherished,

I never thought, she lived in need,

While the forsaken hungry kid

Sold up her body, almost perished.

Life made my Zhenka prostitute,

But we lived happily. And mute...

XLV

-- I can't imagine, however,

Life in the epoch, called "Sovok".

-- People were rich.

--That's known...

-- Never

Intemperated common stock.

But all were dressed in worthy garment,

Not modern, clownish and funny,

And ate not nasty foreign waste:

All Soviet food had ripping taste.

-- Not that. Was there alienation

Among the people at "Sovok"?

Or they, united by the work,

Were vigorous and friendly nation?

Could they neglect the nightly stroll

Of my unhappy hungry girl?

XLVI

-- No. "Sovok" safeguarded youngsters

From all the vices and mistakes,

Not only from new-breeding gangsters--

For future triumph. For its sake.

Today we lost the main aim

Of life. To aimlessness we came.

Be satisfied with what you ate

And how were comforted in bed.

Is that enough? Disdained motto.

So the inspired Russian soul

Is tossing to obtain the goal

And fights, and fails, and sinks to bottom.

Hard, awful time. Any way

Never say die, my friend Andrey.

XLVII

Man, like an animal or insect,

Though unaware of his goal,

To immortality is whipping

During his short lifetime stroll.

To be a drop of mighty river

Strives every creature, ever living,

And only he (or she), who strives,

Is worthy, happy and survives.

You have the goal. But your Flame?

She has betrayed her goal, her life.

Will she make mother, hostess, wife?

Instead of dignity -- but shame.

You fight for her, my silly knight,

Involving me into the fight.

XLVIII

-- I want to be with her for ever.

It was decided deep inside.

I wish, I strive and I endeavour

You to approve my chosen bride.

You want to yield and to retire?

You want me treading my desire?

Lots of examples round us

Of people, treading strongest gusts,

Their best feelings, strivings, passions.

Damned toleration is in fashion.

Then why, on earth, you call yourself

A communist? Is it quite well?

-- Enough, you've hit me. Tell me, son,

Where lives her mother, drinking one.

CHAPTER V

After day's work all men are dying

To take newspapers looking through.

It's the habitual desire

Giving them rest. And pleasure, too.

But on that day Marina's daddy

(And other men, and even ladies)

Knew: their favourite gazette

Has been suppressed. It's banned, it's dead...

-- "New Petersburg" got stopped by censors, --

People were whispering in fright. --

The best newspaper, wanted, bright.

Why was it banned? For what offences?

Not for its blunders or abuse --

Because it wrote pure truth!

It could stand up for all offended,

Could criticize improper law,

Could catch a thief, if he expended

For him the social cash and store.

The heiress of Soviet vigour,

It could remain quite loyal, legal,

But beat him, who has been unjust.

It won with readers love and trust.

Psychiatry's dishonest swindles,

Deceit from chieves, unjust wrong Court --

All them, who dirt the life and blot,

This paper with manure mingled.

The mighty skunks of our days

Hated this paper, did away.

III

Next weekly issue was prepared,

Andreyev signed the fresh reprint.1

But suddenly, God knows from where,

Armed gangsters brought them troubles' mint.

The nasty gangsters were severe:

Robbed all computers. And in fear

The staff, unarmed, could not defend

The office from intruding band.

Local authorities declared --

They had not sponsored the attack...

The stolen comps not coming back,

The readers brought from everywhere

The private comps. And was renewed

The paper after brute pursuit.

Renewed... It lasted not for ever.

The same gangsters soon were sent.

God knows, whose they were, from where,

By whom was hired their band.

The office, which reporters rented,

Got shut, and sealed, and rather emptied.

The staff, who had appealed to Court,

Was waiting for its final word.

Who can believe in modern justice?

The laws are written not for us,

The common people, toiling class,

But just for richest, spoilt, rusty.

Disorder, arbitrary rules

Are new disgusting evil tools.

He was tormented in the prison

("Crosses" is what the prison's called)

With no cause, or guilt, or reason,

The man, well-known in the world.

All had been reading, had been thanking

Bright correspondent Andruschenko.2

His articles brought single task:

To crush corruption and unmask.

His truth displeased some mighty circles,

So once, at midday, in the street

They caught him, threw to prison, beat,

His dossier got with slander mottled.

As "Crosses" supervisor said,

There were attempts to call him mad.

Formally Russia's free from censors,

And we may publish what we want.

Like metastatic swells of cancer

Gibberish breeds. Bright authors don't.

But is not it extreme oppression,

In pseudo-democratic fashion --

All, what we here just described,

What the newspaper has survived?

In literature it is the same:

For book "How riff-raff has been steeled"

Its author Shutov has been pealed

To be a killer. This false blame

Was proved to be an empty tale.

But Shutov is in lifetime jail...3

VII

Pulp literature's now breeding

And fills all libraries and shops.

Some giftless women toil, seeding

The gibberish. We gather crops.

All their books are Russian shame.

We will not mention their names,

As literary impotention's

Unworthy of its being mentioned.

Degraded readers even read them.

Primitive crimes and wingless love

Are much supported. From above

They're wanted more, than truth and wisdom.

These giftless women substitute

The real books for modern brutes.

VIII

Pulp literature fools its readers,

Diverts from bright ideas, thoughts,

Keeps people's every day proceedings

Stuck to material rewards.

"Pulp", but not "feminine". Don't dare

Call spoilage "feminine". For ever

Feminine tribute to the Arts

We keep in our thankful hearts.

Recall "The Gad-Fly", book by Voinich,4

Which was a present for the world.

Widely translated, quickly sold,

It was with deep ideas furnished.

Novels by Zegers or Zhorzh Sans? 5

Are not they gifts for everyone?

We love the small and touching "Cabin"

Of modest, honest "Uncle Tom", 6

Which, human hearts with pity dabbing,

Is being read in every home.

Works of such masters, as Panova,7

Are valued in the world, all over.

And Puymanova's volumes won 8

Respect and love of everyone.

Akhmatova's or Inber's verses 9

Stand high in poetry of Earth,

As every poem, every verse

Help us make up for inner loss,

They make us better, kinder, deep,

Teach us to feel, rejoice and weep.

A writer, if he is a male,

Is squeamish of banal events.

That's why are women's books on sale

With their miserable trends.

They from above are sponsored, cherished,

Such books, which human pride can perish,

Can crush community of men

Kill each progressive social tend.

Great literature of former years

Is dimming, pining, it's oppressed.

We overcame east and west.

Now we move behind. Where?

Not to the blossom and the peak:

All our culture's getting weak...

The trial with the best newspaper

Was very thorough, long and large.

They who intruded, violated

Have lost. "No ban!" -- decided Judge.

But where's delight of population?

Where is the former circulation?

Its 50 thousands turned to 5...

The paper hardly can survive...

The said oppressions made men fear.

Subscribers hid their inner strive

Not to be noticed and survive

Under the censorship severe.

The best newspaper therefore

Is not what it had been before...

XII

How was it in the days of freedom,

In glorious epoch of "Sovok"?

Had former censors tact and wisdom

Or they were impudent in work?

Oh, they were wanted, proper, needed,

They mutual interests could consider,

And they supported, helped and blessed

All useful trends in books and press.

The Soviet censors would root out

All modern rubbish from the print.

The new improper bawdy tint

With them we would not hear about.

Those censors-tutors stayed in past:

New print is full of trash and lust.

XIII

If Soviet censors banned your writing,

They summoned you after the ban.

They weren't rebuking, angry, biting,

But shaking thankfully your hand.

Because your article forbidden

Revealed a lot of blunders hidden.

Disorder seeds alarm in men,

So for the print it must be banned.

And thanks to censors was corrected

What had been blundered so hard.

All, young and old, were taking part

And was caught up the lagging sector.

Where is it now, Soviet trend,

When censor was your help and friend?

XIV

What does it mean -- a ban on paper?

Are censorship and paper's staff

Two opposite positions shaping,

Being inimical enough?

What are we then: a single whole

With common interests, ways and goal

Or hostile competing bands

With different aims, views and trends?

That's why new papers are so feeble

With their insipid criticism,

Run through the hidden censors' prism,

Not articles, but scanty scribbles...

The sight of papers, flash and loud,

Is miserable, no doubt.

-- You've got indifferent to all journals, --

Mum said to Dad one afternoon.

-- Chronicle, foreign and internal,

All essays, articles, cartoons

Got now empty, dull and alien.

-- But you yourself or our fellow

Have taken papers, which I store,

My two large packs lay on the floor,

I saved them to begin repair.

They could not go off themselves.

The flat keeps shut all locks and valves

But papers disappeared. Where?

The Dad got shut -- not to betray

One secret -- his and of Andrey.

XVI

What secret? Oh, in any weather,

With proper paints, brushes, brooms,

They spare time and together

Repair drinking woman's room.

Tatiana Negina is treated

Of drinking. She, at last, retreated.

Doctor was stern, persuading her,

Convincing all his reasons were.

It's hard, when husband is in grave,

When daughter is a prostitute.

But why to drink, like helpless brute?

Live for your daughter. Try to save.

The woman's being treated. Why

Not to believe and not to try?

XVII

Two Sokolovs changed her wall-paper

(All buds, cockroaches had been killed

By special poisons and by vapour).

They paint frames and window-sills.

How clean it is, the whitewashed ceiling!

The floor got even after peeling.

Fresh varnish made all things renewed,

Returning them the former view.

They spent the money: bought the blinds,

The shadow and the new wall-lamp.

The former pen, so dirty, damp,

Its hostess here will not find.

After the treatment having come

She'll meet but harmony and charm.

XVIII

It wants not very much to know,

That you have friends in our world,

You aren't abandoned, not alone:

Somebody's favour, kind words

Can change sometimes inner spirits,

And life becomes not so weird.

Friendly support, if well employed,

Sprouts with faith and pure joy.

The room, renewed and decorated,

Is like a drug, so kind and wise,

And this encouraging surprise

For Negina Tatiana waited.

But will it act, as people want?

God knows, our males don't.

XIX

Andrey is at a loss. The money...

Zhenka told not to give to Mum.

The situation changed, it's cunning:

May he to sober woman come

And foist the products? It's improper.

To tell her all the truth? It's awful.

At any rate, she must be fed

For money, which Audrey has had.

Oh, with the drunkard it was easy:

He brought the food -- tins, sugar, bread

"For you from Zhenia" quickly said

And left, as always overbusy.

But now... It's for Zhenka now

To tell, what he must do and how.

Up to the recent time shortly

Were all his calls: a word or two.

-- Is it too hot in China?

-- Hotly.

-- Your Mum is well.

-- Tell, I am too.

Now he had to be loquacious,

Describing novelties so spacious.

What must he do with Zhenka's sum:

To keep it? Or to give to Mum?

He told, the room had been repaired,

Mum's being treated with result,

So foisting products will insult

The sober woman. Why? From where?

So Zhenka, in her endless roam,

Knew all, what's happening at home.

XXI

What to advice from her seclusion?

Edward neglects her joys and blows.

He's occupied with wrong illusion,

That money is the whole show.

-- You're homesick? You strive to Peter,

My girl? -- He asked. -- It is quite pretty.

Two our routes will coincide,

As I must take the same flight,

But only for a day or so.

To whom is striving our dame,

Unable eagerness to tame?

Is it a secret? Let me know.

-- No secrets and don't be a cynic.

I'll take my Mummy from a clinic.

XXII

Two our charitable faddists

Are waiting for the dear guests.

Not guests -- the hostesses are ready

To come to their native nest.

Table is laid. New spoons and plates,

And grapes two vases decorate,

And stew is cooked, and salads bought.

With what is our doctor hurt?

He hid uneasiness from sonny,

Never discussed it with his wife.

But his Audrey plans future life

With fallen woman. Is it honey?

-- Son! Conjugality and passion

Have never been the same fashion...

XXIII

She had hard life in early years:

Killed father, ever drinking Mum.

The new reality, severe

To her, to many brings but harm.

You have rebuked, rebuked me justly,

That we were pitiless and rustic,

When we pushed off the poor girl

And doomed her for the dreadful fall.

Post-Soviet virulent nightmare

Spreading unkindness and brass

Makes heartless idiots of us.

I was a skunk, I am aware,

When I safeguarded you from dirt

And left small Zhenechka to rot.

XXV

I tried redressing my old blunder:

Treated her mother, bettered room,

Still I am punished.

-- Why, I wonder.

-- I wish to have grandchildren. Whom

Can give the marriage to street walkers?

Genetics beat the thoughtless jokers,

Who live neglecting human rules

And bear drunkards, thieves and fools.

Marriages define the future.

Before the future life to seed

And give the life to fine kids

Act humanly, not like a butcher.

It's not excluded, that my son

Risks to remain a childless one...

XXV

-- What can we say, until we bear

The baby, we are waiting for?

We are quite blind and unaware,

This book is sealed. And therefore

Until we can't unpuzzle nature,

Let's leave all panic and conjectures.

Neglecting them let's swim above

Through ocean-life with compass-love. --

Andrey was ardently persuading

His father. And the bright romance

Gave doctor Sokolov the sense

Of something joyful, brisk, unfading.

-- I'll buy a cake, -- he said, -- high sort.

Move, meet her in the airport.

XXVI

Edward was glad to see Romeo.

Met by his dealers, he got rid

Of Zhenka, as his business queer

Wants concentration to succeed.

Why must he think of Zhenka's Mummy?

Edward arrived for business summit

Of porno-bigwigs. One of them,

He is with business overwhelmed.

And Zhenka can be well protected

By her devoted funny knight,

And let him graze her up to night

Together with her Mum defected.

He wagged his finger from afar

And took a fasionable car.

XXVII

Wherever you have gadded, roamed

About crooky, crazy routes,

When you return, the native home

Seems so comforting and good.

The taxi crawls, by "jams" retarded.

The driver cannot ride it harder.

How to help, what to advise?

The traffic got half-paralyzed.

And ugly housing construction,

New trace of epoch, such unwell...

But modern "novelties" and hell

Won't tread my town into marshes.

So, Peter, cheer up. Let's pray,

That we will see your better days.

XXVIII

Zhenka is next to him, together.

Fairy tale and delight!

How often he, in any weather,

Had dreamed of such delicious sight.

-- To home, then to my Mummy's clinic?

-- Home. Don't take me for a cynic,

But from your den it's turned to hall

While you were in eastern stroll.

We toiled hard, myself and Daddy,

Two funny volunteer grooms,

Repaired your neglected room,

It waits for Mum, renewed and ready.

Zhenka's rejoiced with all these things.

Will Mummy interrupt her drinks?

XXIX

-- I wonder, can you tell, Andriukha,

Why people now drink and drink?

As if all bright in them got putrid,

They strive to none, of nothing think...

-- And do you differ?

-- I think, no...

For what I live, I do not know.

-- Without aims, strivings, love

People don't live -- mentally starve.

-- I often think of my late father.

A common smith, he loved his work.

Brought to a bar, that human bog,

How he dreamed of something other.

He had not scanty living-on,

But was for real labour born.

XXX

-- We've missed his time, as born much later,

When former zest of life has gone.

Russia stagnates, degrades, but waiting

For better epochs to return.

I, Zhenia, am a bad adviser

And not a social organizer,

But think, that every man today

Must find his most creative way.

He must neglect the strive to money,

Be squeamish of the useless jobs.

Not only cash must him disturb,

But life, which is around running.

Let great ideals of the past

Feed every his attempt and gust.

XXXI

My field is Art. It's agonizing.

And mockery, God knows whence,

To worthy exhibitions rising,

Finds high protection and defense.

You see that in new books.

-- No, dear.

For ages not a line, I fear...

Don't think my life to be so fine,

I live like dunce, benighted swine.

But wait for something new, refreshing

To burst into my stagnant life.

-- And you will make a mum and wife?

-- It's not a plan, but... something flashing.

The driver stopped. The fare's paid,

And their taxi rolled away.

XXXII

The staircase was lighted slightly.

They stopped bewitched and somewhat lost.

To hurry home would be rightly,

But this seclusion pleased them most.

And suddenly, apologizing,

But seeking none and none advising,

Zhehka pressed face against his breast:

-- You, -- whispered, -- are my single, best.

He brings her in his arms upstairs

And sees the tears on her face,

Happy to touch and to embrace

The best of girls, world ever bears.

And on the landing, by the door,

He kisses her, then more and more.

XXXIII

But is it time for caresses,

If their day is planned so hard?

If it is full of deals and stresses,

Her single day in Leningrad?

-- Let's enter, we are in a hurry,

If we are late, your Mum will worry, --

Andrey is whispering. His words

Don't make her conscious and alert.

-- My Dad and I were saving Mummy

Together, doing our best.

We have repaired this small nest,

From clinic she's non-drinking coming.

She had the treatment, rather fine,

She feels no strive to any wine.

XXXIV

They entered. Zhenia stopped bewildered,

Bewhitched with what she saw inside.

Not dirty corner, she had yielded, --

She saw saloon, so fine and bright.

-- It's such a boon! You are magicians.

It's better, than in dreams one wishes.

My thankful bow to you both.

You can't imagine, how I was

Unhappy here time ago.

I used to see the same thing:

Mum's on the floor, she lies and drinks.

And none to eat for me, oh, no...

I left the miserable den.

What have I found after then?

XXXV

-- You found friends, my fair lady, --

The doctor said.--And I suggest

To raise the glasses filled with brandy,

To mark repair and success.

Then all to clinic, meeting Mummy,

Because, as far as I can summing,

The common dinner, rather fine,

With her must be without wine.

My colleague gives his car, quite spacious,

He's called, he's riding here yet.

He is in season, I may bet,

Both he and this his car capacious.

And all were glad to drink a bit

As the events went well, indeed.

XXXVI

Narcologist, that father's colleague,

Recently lost his skillful nurse.

He is of tiredness half-falling,

Laborious abandoned boss.

And doctor Sokolov suggested

To test Tatiana. She has rested

Aside from medicine very long,

But time ago she was strong.

She has been treated, non-addicting.

Why not to risk and not to try?

She will be under doctor's eye,

She is not lazy or conflicting,

She's knowing to a great extent.

Narcologist gave his consent.

XXXVII

For social serious rebuilding

Russia is weak nowadays.

Marketing pressed us and bewildered,

It's hard to seek some proper ways.

And even Communists descended

To shameful religious tender.

Social community got dim,

All people half-alive seem.

But voice in wilderness resounds

From Stakhov, great philanthropist. 10

He calls, through modern dark and mist,

Neglecting dollars, rubles and pounds,

To seed the kindness and good

In modern thick unfriendly wood.

XXXVIII

Tatiana Negina is happy:

Her cosy home is full of friends.

May be, her daughter, silly flapper,

Will bring her roaming to the end?

Tatiana feels herself a winner.

And having rested after dinner

She wants to catch her happy chance:

-- I dream to work, let's go at once!

I'm eager grasping your specific,

Peculiar essence of the work,

To try your every key and lock,

To learn your coolants, soporifics.

Why not to go on Sunday? Why?

And three physicians said "Good-bye".

XXXIX

Sexual contact is capricious,

It dies of mutual rebukes,

If something can withstand the wishes

And actions, which we undertook.

But their flame was so pure!

Why any longer to endure

And to restrain the inner gust

Of passion, full of mighty lust?

In fair Christmas font, together

With single one, whom each has loved,

They flew above the Earth, above

Its peoples, problems, routes and weather,

But severing mobile call

Suddenly stopped the magic stroll.

-- To airport? At twelve? It seems

Too soon. But will you drop, I wonder?

(All our ecstasy and dreams

Can die of sudden bolts of thunder).

-- Again China, porno-dealing?

You'd better stay. Why aren't you willing

To marry, normalizing life,

To be my dear friend and wife?

-- Don't torture, darling, with such questions.

I strived to Peter for a day.

He brought me, though it's far away.

Can be my answer separation?

Call me degraded, fallen, stale,

But I will never lie to male.

XLI

-- Will I go off?

-- What can I answer?

I am half-giddy of these all.

I love you. But of any chancel

I am unworthy with my strolls.

Edward's aware of my feeling.

He won't withstand. But who is willing

To have at home girls, like me,

For instance, I your parents mean?

-- Not theirs, mine are rights for choosing.

I've made my choice, they know that.

Were you disdained by my Dad?

Was him your company confusing?

There's no base to complicate.

Remember: I will love and wait.

XLII

-- I need more time for such decision.

Edward will come for me in morn.

I'll hint at possible division,

At our soon divorce, at all...

-- Decisions are the task for males.

I'll meet him. Not for talks and tales --

For short decision. When's your race?

I'll come to meet him face-to face.

-- We'll fly at eight and leave at seven.

-- If by six-thirty, will it suit?

-- It will. It will be very good,

May you and me be blessed by heaven?

-- Again for long we are apart.

-- But you are always in my heart.

XLIII

............................................................

XLIV

The early morning. Call from phone.

Not Zhenka's, but Tatiana's call.

-- My girl is off, -- her quiet tone

Kills him: -- What kind of a stroll?

-- Edward brought in and took her out,

They spoke on something.

-- What about?

-- I did not hear, I half-slept.

My girl got off! I wept and wept...

Tatiana thanks his Dad for worry

Of her: she likes the offered work.

As to his marriage, which is blocked?

They are so young, no base for hurry.

Wait. Only time has to say,

If you match properly, Andrey.

XLV

Oddly... He's hurt, abandoned, jeered

And may be even joked upon...

Our unlucky young Romeo

For long remembered dreadful morn.

Does not she see him be half-crazy

Of passion, she herself was raising?

Zhenia, his Zhenka... Could she want

This mockery, this gibe and taunt?

He's doomed again to dream and wait,

To see her back, embraced by males.

Whatever undertakes, he fails...

Is it his destiny, his fate?

The inner voice emerged and said:

"Be strong, Maestro. Go ahead."

CHAPTER VI

Born in Kurgan, Marina never

Saw splendid town of her roots.

By thousands of miles severed,

She grew among the steppe and woods,

As half a century ago

(For what, Marina does not know)

Young Angela, her grandmaman,

Left Leningrad for Kazakhstan.

Komsomol members moved to deserts,

To cultivate the Virgin Lands.1

Regardless their backs and hands

They worked in fields in any weather.

Angela missed her home, however

She stayed in Kazakhstan for ever.

It's hard to raise the virgin grounds,

At (under zero!) forty-five,

And newcomers' whereabouts

Were tents in steppe. Try to survive!

But all the quinsies, pleurithes

With joyful songs were being treated.

All medicines, drugs were put aside:

The youth was working day and night.

To turn the desert into gardens

Was aim of the enthusiasts,

And energetic, friendly, fast,

Laborious, tireless and ardent

They made great miracles so soon.

Enthusiasm, it's such a boon!

III

To all the parts of Soviet country

The strings of lorries moved ahead,

To them, who starved and had been hungry,

These lorries brought the virgin bread.

Cottages grew like grass in rain.

State-farms again and again

Widened the arable full range,

All social bodies got arranged.

The cattle-farming was increasing,

Grew herds of cows, flocks of sheep.

Hard work without rest and sleep

Was in the past, first hardships ceasing.

Angela liked the virgin life.

She was a happy mum and wife.

There is a mighty vital power

In tight community of men.

Whatever troubles are around

They can't suppress, they never bend.

Angela's husband, tractor-driver,

Had single combat with the fire.

He saved the fields of virgin wheat,

But died of burns and overheat.

The hero's portraits decorated

All papers, telling of his feat.

His widow, kids could always meet

In his state-farm the loving pater.

Supported, carefully warmed,

Angela loved her virgin home.

But hidden enemies endeavoured,

Destroyed the happy Soviet land.

Russia and Kazakhstan got severed

According to the evil trend.2

"My husband died for native ground,

But now it's beyond the bound, --

Angela thought. -- We must escape

To Russia". So their way

Was to the North. Kurgan's big region

Became her Russian new estate:

There they fled from evil fate.

To Russian nest returned the pigeons.

The same fields, but Russian soil.

She settled there, lived and toiled.

Time flew. Her kids were getting grown

Apart from Peter and her roots.

Each chose profession of his own,

His views of life and further routes.

Angela's father, however,

Could not be any longer severed:

"Return to Peter. I am old,

Mum's ill. You want meet corpses cold?" --

War veteran, her father wrote.

She left her offsprings in Kurgan,

Went to her father-veteran,

To her ill mum with cancered throat.

After long decades of her roams

She was in Leningrad, at home.

VII

When in blockade, decades ago,

This town was a single kin.

Wonders of friendship had been shown,

They helped to overdo, to win.

From ruined houses and domes

All run-aways could find homes.

Unknown hosts met them with warmth

And none was doomed to roofless roams.

All gained shelter, registration,

And hospitality, and roof.

And was not it the brilliant proof

Of brotherhood in Soviet nation?

Ten people slept in one small room

In tightness, but with no gloom.

VIII

After the war it's comprehended.

But Leningrad restored its health.

All ruins vanished. Fine, splendid

The town stands. And common sense

Tells to return the flats to those,

Who in blockade had them exposed

For poor homeless run-aways.

But common sense was pushed away...

Some new rich owners appeared,

God knows, how, why and whence,

They own best apartments hence,

Veterans are rejected here.

Communal flat, not roomy cell

It's where the veterans must dwell.

Grandchildren grew without granny

In far Kurgan. And time has come

For them to have professional training

In higher schools. Tremendous sums

Are wanted in my poor nation

To give one's children education.

Angela's son has five kids,

And their education needs

Expense, which is above admitted.

Their life together wants much less,

If all high schools have one address

In Leningrad, this students city.

Granny Angela met her guests

In communal, not roomy nest.

Her native parents had been buried

Years ago. They have gone.

Even without them this lady

Could not locate her guests for long.

Twelve-metre room is insufficient

For eight of them. Here is decision:

To rent apartment for her son

And have a bed for everyone.

So poor parents of Marina

Now have to work all days and nights

To pay the rent. Severe fight!

They work without rest and dinner.

They are so stubborn and so prudent --

And elder children are two students!

Could he, defending our town,

(Now late veteran of war)

Foresee, that like a homeless hound

His grandson here is bestowed?

Could he, who burnt in Virgin fire,

Think, that his son would have to hire

A shabby room and pay a lot

To thieves, who our town bought?

Shame on the citadel of culture,

Great former culture, which has gone,

Trodden by market, dirtied, scorned,

All its achievements being punctured.

D...d "perestroyka" pushed the town

Into immoral marshes, down...

XII

Opera Theatre is headed

By tradesman, by "banana king".

Don't dare protesting, withstanding:

The king is rich and likes to sing.

You worshiped Peter's architecture?

It can't remain fine and fetching.

New churches, like some toads in rain,

Raise people's protest and disdain.

The churches' virulent pollutions,

Such as the birth of Jewish Christ,

The anti-human ruling beasts

Mark on the place of Revolution.

Dvortsovaya! Forget your fame.

Meet immorality and shame.

XIII

But up the chin, my old Angela.

Whose letter trembles in your hand?

Sent by a clerk? By a book-seller?

No. Russian President has sent.

It is the annual tradition,

The leader's honourable mission --

To greet all them, who in Blockade

Forbade the fascists to invade.

His message is so warm and kind.

Veterans have it, read and feel,

That their feat is honoured still,

Though sixty years are behind.

"Your thankful offsprings keep in hearts,

Them, who defended Leningrad",-

XIV

Angela read. But winked her lustre,

And with the crashing loud roar

Enormous heavy block of plaster

Fell from the ceiling to the floor.

Angela dodged aside. Meanwhile

She cursed her shabby domicile:

"If, President, you knew of modern

Disastrous communal disorder!" --

Angela uttered in despair.

She took a paper and a pen

To write the truth. Let it offend

Him, who of people does not care:

For what we starved and shed the blood?

Whose offsprings own Leningrad?

XV - XVI

...............................................................

................................................................

XVII

"Take back all your congratulations.

Russia has none to celebrate.

It's falling short of the occasion.

We've lost what won. For what to wait? --

Angela wrote to the Kremlin,

Her heart much hurt, her fingers trembling. --

The Victory of Forty-Five,

For which we fought and could survive,

Is trodden by the d...d "rebuilding":

Since 85 we took the wrong

Route to the marketing. And long

We give intruders our buildings.

We, veterans, in slums must live,

Peter is sold to some rich thieves".

XVIII

Angela sent this angry letter

About town, which is sold,

And soon got frightened. And regretted,

That she had been too rude and bold.

What if not help and not compassion,

But persecution and repression

Will follow? Her younger ones

Will suffer. And expelled at once

Can be grandchildren, her two students --

Boris from Mining Institute,

Marina, in her Arts so good, --

Because of granny, too imprudent.

"That block of plaster is to blame," --

She thought. (We do not think the same).

XIX

Angela worried quite in vain.

A call from Moscow her rejoiced:

"Old people now and again

Send us reproaches, -- said the voice, --

As they, who in Blockade was living,

Too long are waiting for receiving

Some better worthy domiciles.

Complaints are numerous, thick files.

And our President determines

To treat all these complaints just.

Every of you, blockadniks, must

Have in your Peter worthy homes.

So, tell your glorious veterans:

They fought for justice. They have won".

Excuse me, President, my honey,

That I distracted You from work.

You are so kind. You found money

For the protection, not for talk.

You are not guilty of disorders,

Which rushed on Russia from the borders,

As globalizm, perfidious bane,

Poisons the human life and reigns.

But You are kind at Your disposal,

You care of old veterans,

You could respond and help at once

To us, exhausted, helpless fossils.

How grateful was Angela's heart.

She'll have a flat in Leningrad!

XXI

Alas! Blockadniks but in ghetto 3

Must dwell, apart from their kin.

All central buildings, which are better,

Are not for veterans within.

To outskirts, my old Angela.

This town is for crafty fellows,

Busy with useless pseudo-job,

Able to bargain trade and rob.

He, who defended native town,

Is alienated, ostracized,

Let him live there, outside,

As he is old and goes down.

For him is ghetto on sea-beach,

Fine architecture is for rich.

XXII

Bureaucratizm, new bane of Russia,

Inflicted our veterans.

The hoary people are on marches:

To lots of offices they run.

Some with a stick, some with 2 crutches,

Blockadniks go on these marches.

They gather papers, stand in queues

In their old and shabby suits.

The clerks extort the bribes, the money

From poor pensioners, who starve,

For whose bad health it is above

All archives, queues and endless running

Through gathered papers -- needless, wrong --

They'll gain flats (if they live long...)

XXIII

That winter turned to be severe,

The frost returned to us at last.

The thaw and slush got changed by real

Cold polar wind, it blew so fast.

And veterans, not to be freezing,

Now with hot discussion busy.

On furniture: how to squeeze

In ghetto what they go with?

From ceiling's height near 4-metre

Try squeezing in two-sixty cells

Tall furniture, with which they dwell.

To part with it? Oh, it is bitter.

-- I've cut the legs of fretted things.

-- That's sacrilege, my husband thinks.

XXIV

Old hoary woman is in tears.

All rush to comfort, to protect:

-- What hurts you, dear? Heart? Or liver?

-- I am quite healthy, -- she objects. --

My pier-glass, lifetime companion,

Since wedding near me remaining,

Has nearly 3-metre height,

Not for the ghetto, low and tight.

Presented by my mum for wedding

(Mum and my husband are in graves)

It in Blockade remained safe,

It was so loved by my late daddy...

Without it I'll feel alone, --

Old woman bitterly bemoaned.

XXV

-- What if to make it horizontal?

-- No, my ghetto is so small...

-- What if to saw -- for room, which's haunted,

And part for kitchen or for hall?

-- Oh, better saw myself and bury...

And noiseless painful hysterics

Shook poor hoary woman's breast.

She mourned her past, her native nest.

Hurrah! Clerks are at last unlocking

The door to let blockadniks in.

Now they can warm up within,

Sitting in their queue and talking.

And weeping lady at the grace

Brushed off her tears from the face.

XXVI

At last Angela has endured

Gathering copies, extracts, trash:

Five months of race -- and she is sure --

She'll have her ghetto, new and fresh.

Though life aside of native town,

Not with the kids, but far around,

Is quite amiss for hoary men,

They may sell their cells or rent.

And it was done. To my Angela

At last returned her former flat:

Two rooms for eight -- but is it bad,

If no neighbours, alien fellows?

They are together, friendly team,

Of what, but that, Angela dreamed?

XXVII

Night. All are sleeping, but Marina.

She sees small lamp behind the screen,

Which means, that granny still is reading

In her small cosy nest, within.

Marina slips to granny's nest

And falls in tears on her breast.

Angela tries to calm, embrace

And wipe the tears from her face:

-- What's happened? You are all in fever.

Confide, what hurts your little heart.

Is it incorrigible, hard?

Don't weep, Marinochka, my dear.

-- I am...of our student fond.

Unanswered love, he can't respond...

XXVIII

-- Is he in love with other girly? --

Angela asked.

-- No, he is not.

At lectures, common parties, strolling

We are together, and a lot.

His sweetheart would have time ago

Been seen by all of us and known.

He has not any love and passion,

And simply he dislikes my nation,

So he is cold to me, unwilling.

I am a Jewess, that is why.., --

She could not speak, burst into cry,

Bemoaning her neglected feeling.

-- Nation, -- Angela did object, --

Can't be impediment. Not that.

XXIX

-- Under "Sovok" we loved and never

Knew real nations of sweethearts.

All national lands then weren't severed,

Nations got mixed in single blood.

And loving hearts were never brushing

Away -- Tatars, or Jews, or Russians.

We loved, and married, and grew kids

Of different bloods and different breeds.

For instance, your grandfather, hero:

Reckoned to Russians, was he such?

Black narrow eyes, Mongolian touch.

But I was fond of this Bashkiro.

Love no nation can reject,

Treat as impediment. Not that.

XXX

-- In Peter people curse "rebuilding",

Which perished fair Soviet land,

Destroyed economy and yielding,

Induced to slavish scanty trend.

All here blame Zionism,

Which smothered our Communism.

But are we guilty, common Jews,

If these suspicions are the truth?

-- There's hidden Host on our globe,

Who poisons life and spoils all.

We flew with Soviets to high goal,

With foisted market -- down the slope...

But why to blame this Zionism,

Equating it with Hitlerism?

XXXI

-- You can't imagine, granny, how

The Jews of Russian nation say,

I heard, one Jewish "sage" aloud

Instructed my beloved Andrey:

"Tell nobody, that you are Russian,

Tell, you are Chukchi, Byelorussian,

Mordvinian, Georgian, Tatar,

Your nation stops your moving far".

-- It's rubbish. You have all got crazy! --

Angela angrily replied. --

Brush all this gibberish aside.

He, who had gift, who was not lazy,

He always conquered, moved ahead,

Despite the nation, which he had.

XXXII

And who today is more inflicted

With our crooked distorted life?

Who dwells in brothels, drug-addicted,

And drinks, and nightly rides with knife --

Or sorry-sages, treating nations

To be determinative question?

And does the student, whom you love,

Regard the nations all above?

-- No. This Andrey is clever, special.

He is above the modern trash

And far from marketing and cash,

He's full of vigour, high impressions,

He's like a bird with mighty wings,

But... he's indifferent to me...

XXXIII

In theatre I asked him, whether --

Not so soon, upon a time --

We would or would not be together,

Of what I dream. Or that's a crime?

He answered: "No, my girly. Never".

I think and think. And I endeavour

To understand, what is between.

-- His heart has other girl within.

-- But where is she?

-- Behind the oceans.

Why not? Departed. He is left.

Or she's imprisoned for a theft.

He loves her, full of bright emotions.

Don't bother his devoted heart,

While he's with chosen girl apart.

XXXIV

-- He shuns me not because of nation?

-- Be sure dear, not of that:

His heart is shut for all invasions,

He loves another girl, I bet.

And is he seriously gifted?

--Oh, yes. His every plot is sifted.

His pictures decorate Saloon,

Look through his albums -- it's a boon.

He works in our great traditions,

Neglects the growing modern trash,

Who baits him, badgers, tries to crash,

But he is true to his high mission.

-- Don't bother him. His heart is won,

And you must find another one.

XXXV

Andrey is working on the canvas,

Devoted to Shukshin, his men --

So open-hearted, touching, selfless,

With Russian might as a refrain.

Shukshin! His name charms, inspires, 4

Makes our hopes and desires,

Giving the faith in better life,

Which Russia had, to which we strive.

Simplicity can't screen the genius

Of Russian characters and views.

His funny people don't amuse,

They bring us something wise and serious.

Despite disorders in my land

Will they return its normal trend?

XXXVI

Work on the canvas is absorbing,

Muffling anxiety in breast.

He's all in canvas. No hobbies,

No entertainments or rest.

And no hope to find Zhenia...

The SMS-es, which he's sending,

All his attempts to get in touch

Are vain. Solitude, like such,

Discourages and makes him worry.

All Negins' phones got quite mute.

Where's Zhenka? Where's her trace, her route,

Where's she, at last? Oh, he must hurry.

Obedient knight, your calm be damned.

Take underground. Rush to them!

XXXVII

The same yard, its buttons, codes.

But who emerged in the doorway?

Is it a dream, a glimpse of dote,

Hallucination of Andrey?

-- Zhenka?? But you had gone to Assia,

To some Chinese or other nations.

I called, I sought, I did my best.

-- But I am in my native nest.

-- Then I can't make some head or tail.

I was so hungering for you.

Your telephones all got mute,

I called you every day and failed.

Where were you, my dear girl?

At first she could not speak at all...

XXXVIII

..................................................................

.................................................................

XXXIX

-- You see, -- she said at last with pain, --

We lied, that I had flown away,

I had not gone, I had remained,

Edward alone took his way.

-- What stopped you? Why could not you phone?

-- Since then I live with Mum alone.

She changed all numbers to prevent

Unwanted calls of drinking friends:

They would be virulent, entangling.

-- And you?

-- I wanted solitude

With none to visit, to intrude,

Tried to forget my vital tangle

And to begin another life

And, may be...to become your wife.

He raises his unweighty beauty,

Brings in his arms to their room.

High God at last fulfilled his duty:

She is his bride, he is her groom.

The room is clean, in model order.

-- Does Mummy work?

-- She is much loaded,

From morn till evening at her job,

Comes home tired, like a top.

-- And you?

-- I work as a postwoman

And I attend the evening school

Not to remain benighted fool,

To match you, literate and human.

-- Bravo, my Zhenka! -- cries Andrey.

-- Mum soon will come, she's on the way.

XLI

Zhenka had blundered -- oversalted

The borsch for their friendly meal.

But no soup had better hotted

Blood of Andrey, his wish and will.

Could he believe -- he could not, never --

That tea was nectar from the heaven,

That piece of bread was food of Gods

And problems solved without words?

He knew, the table wanted wine,

But with Tatiana wine's banned.

"It's wedding" -- each could comprehend.

Awaited wedding, cherished, fine".

For what are parties, noisy, bright,

If blossoms happiness inside?

XLII

In restaurant their wedding party

Was bright, and beautiful, and gay.

Refined wines, dishes hearty,

Toasting for Zhenia and Andrey.

But brilliance, ritual and pompous,

Is postscript. As the real context

Of this alliance was at home,

With no wines, guests and pomp,

With smelling borsch, too oversalted,

Where despite all mud and brutes

Got joined these two human routes

In epoch -- evil, dead and volte-faced.

As no epoch can deceive

Him, who can hope, love, believe.

XLIII

And will not You, my poor Russia,

Get through the worst of epochs, eh?

And live, the evil market brushing

And sending aimlessness away?

For Soviet great achievements matching,

You have to cease your selling nature,

Restore your industries and land,

Forgetting modern shameful trend.

Great Russia! Get reanimated,

Refuse from foreign foisted mud.

Your peoples bring the brightest blood.

Rise, Russia, earlier or later!

And bring your vigour, health and brain

To peoples of the Earth again,

XLIV

And You, my Town, so distorted,

You, losing harmony and charm,

Never say die. The time rotten

Will pass away and cease its harm.

Just look: the primitive sky-scraper

Will not stick up, like ugly taper,

We coped with it, we fought and won.

It's victory for everyone.

Wait, Peter. Ghettoes will be banished,

New stupid signs all will be scrubbed,

The human faces will wake up,

Nasty advertisements will vanish.

They will return -- your social health,

Your former culture, beauty, wealth.

CHAPTER VII

We planned to stop this long narration:

The readers must relax and rest,

But lines, utterly impatient,

Force forward: "Take me, I'm the best!"...

The famous ends of Russian tales

With prosperous just-married male

And his beloved just-married wife

Are not for our modern life.

Young Sokolov must work since now

For living-on (he is a man!) --

On parents cash not to depend,

To help the family somehow.

Andrey arranged the license-card

For teaching kids his basic Art.

Small fleeting jobs of our student

Brought him irregular small pay.

A married man must he more prudent,

Decide his earnings other way.

Zhenechka worked for scanty money,

All his potboilings' pays were tiny,

But the new license gave the chance

To earn good money and at once.

And what a joy! Not only earning --

His heart will blossom with new work:

His own studio, his lock,

And gifted kids his Art are learning!

Such School Art Studio, his dream,

Absorbed and fascinated him.

III

Across the yard his school is near,

The windows look on native fence.

Quite recently he studied here

And met his dear Zhenka. Whence

Could it be granted, tender feeling?

He went to school and he was willing

To see her dear touching eyes

Like utter pleasure and surprise.

Then he was parted from his girly,

He met his Art and worthy friends,

But none could give him happy end,

Nowhere he was happy jolly,

Like in this former native school,

Which now gains additional pull.

Few kids are being born in Russia,

Its social crash retards birth-rate.

Half-empty schools are now rushing

To use this problem of the day.

They lease some classrooms for whoever

To use and pay for them endeavours.

The school headmistress and Andrey

Discussed the terms for coming days.

Now his task's arranging classroom

And choosing gifted earnest kids,

Whom he must teach, inspire, lead

The proper way through all disasters.

He runs to schools, to seek the best

For their strict admittance test.

Here he stumbled. Unexpected

Barrier had grown round schools:

Creative guests got all rejected.

"My school's my fortress!" is new rule.

-- Painting? Arts? -- School guards inquired. --

For making money? To be hired?

No, our kids are our cash! --

School watchmen everywhere dash.

The shameful trend comes from headmasters,

From principals and whole staff:

-- Enough of talents, quite enough,

Your Art's for our profits blasting.

Let parents' pays in every class

Be ours. They must pay to us.

-- But I must speak to your headmistress,

It is appointed, at last! --

Andrey insisted. -- Let me, mister.

-- Passport to me and go fast.

Headmistress looked at him in wonder:

-- We need not any Arts!

--You blunder, --

Andrey objects. -- Why do you lock

Your pupils from creative work?

-- New life consists of making money,

New epoch does not strive to Arts,

It was in former Leningrad,

That we grew singers, poets, drummers,

But life is primitive today.

-- You are mistaken, -- sighs Andrey.

VII

That's everywhere. More sincere

Headmistress told him in the face:

-- Off from the kids. Don't interfere.

Children are money, go away!

All parents' payments are for us. --

Headmistress told with utter brass.

"How quickly we degenerate", --

Concludes my tireless Andrey. --

She makes skin creep, this brassy lady!

Why do we our children trust

To them, who dig young gifts in dust,

To tread the own conscience ready?

Are they compatible with kids?

These nasty moral invalids?!"

VIII - IX

.............................................................

............................................................

One head of kindergarten twitted:

-- Art-classes? What a rubbish. No!

Neither Art-schools, nor music. Veto!

Let children nowhere go.

Some heads of kindergartens sentenced:

If children's parents have finances,

They pay to our pedagogues

For their some additional work.

"The same motto: kids are money,

Primitive amateurish ways

With no control, -- thinks Andrey. --

If not too grim, it would be funny..."

Why are such people near kids?

To what will this potboiling lead?

My Russia! Where is your discretion?

Why do potboilers rule the ball,

With no gift, or skills, or passion,

Busy with profits first of all?

Young talents, which the kids inherit,

Now remain unnoticed, buried,

As trusted to improper hands,

Which have emerged God knows whence.

Parents, absorbed with earning money

For living-on, to make ends meet,

In fact don't see their own kid,

To unprofessional lessons running.

The parents toil night and day

To pay for lessons. Toil and pay...

XII

So it will be in evil epoch,

When life means marketing and grudge.

Where is the Soviet social tribute --

The children's clubs, all free of charge?

Not taxes great "Sovok" protected:

It fought for culture. And inspected

All working tutors, whom it paid,

And made them study (Never late!)

"Sovok" compared kids to flowers,

Developed, cherished their gifts,

Called them successors, younger shifts,

Messengers to the future our --

Such was the Soviet fair game.

But "kids are money"?! Modern shame...

XIII

My readers tell: "Get quiet, dear.

Describe for us the honey moon.

Returning to "Sovok"? Unreal!

At any rate, unreal soon.

Leave those problems. They are known:

Into abyss was Russia thrown,

It's tolerant, and let it sleep.

And don't unveil it, don't weep.

Where's our heroine, where's Zhenka?

And is she happy with Andrey?

Quite comforted, beloved and gay?

How is her Mum, the former drankard?

Andrey had better leave his Art,

Become a steward and retard".

XIV

Sorry-advice can't please Romeo,

Who won't betray his chosen Art.

Who loves his Art, he will not hear

Them, who advise him to retard.

His canvas, his "Shukshiniana"

Grew in diploma. Like a tanner

He works upon its every part,

Which is enjoyable, but hard.

Zhenia is mastering school wisdom

After her tedious postal work.

New family make help and stock,

They add her strength and stoicism.

When people have a certain goal,

Don't interfere: let them go.

If you are stubborn, you will gain.

With pencils, paints, coloured chalks

Kids come again and again,

And new Art School began to work.

Andrey remembers his wise tutor

Matvey Lukich, whose skills are suited

For the beginning pedagogue

In his initial earnest work:

"Don't hurry. Give your thoughts to ripen.

Are you quite certain, what you wish?

Art is a mighty golden fish,

If you are purposeful and fighting."

Teaching rejoices, it's a boon.

And it will give good money soon.

XVI

Enthusiasts are still existing.

Less numerous, than they had been,

As mercantile people beastly

Hate and offend the honest kin.

Zhenia was honest. She endeavoured

To help her husband. Never severed,

Together were inviting kids.

And pupils came to them indeed.

Zhenia has secret hidden aim --

To work with children, to support

The youngsters, whom the life has hurt,

As she herself survived the same.

Life hurt young Zhenechka and houghed,

But she had heart of pedagogue.

XVII

The new Art School has gathered many

Serious, gifted boys and girls.

Some run themselves, some led by granny:

At 5 p.m. they fill the hall.

Let our modern degradation

Thoroughly kills the sap of nation

(The sorry-process can't be stopped:

Mass media seed the dreadful crop,

Grow dull and empty all school courses,

The foisted songs resemble bark,

With dancing normal men are struck,

Whatever touch -- falls, blunders, losses) --

But Russia brings on its hard way

Its hidden gift. It lives today.

XVIII

Attempts took place not long ago

To dirty Russian school with church.1

It could be final mortal blow

From Zionism, its nasty dodge.

Those attempts were rooted out,

So Russian school can live without

Damned church's fables. But alas!

Another trouble waits for us.

Only four main shortened subjects

Will be for children in new schools. 2

Let grow benighted herds of fools

(Allegedly the shortened budget).

So parents lead their young kids

To Sokolov's Art School: it's cheap...

XIX

His rent and taxes must not grow.

Four times a week Andrey's at work.

The parents' payment is so low --

Feasible for the poor folk.

One hundred pupils come with eager,

All full of interest and vigour.

Zhenia's at hand: she washes floor,

Dusts window-sills, all frames and door.

The children like, when she is reading

For them about painters' life.

And she is happy, satisfied,

With knowledge their children feeding.

Thus our Zhenka realized

The dream, which lived in her, disguised.

Lucky beginning always gladdens.

Our Andrey went to arrange

All their terms -- for not to redden,

To argue, quarrel, add some change.

Headmistress and Andrey must sign

The contract for the new design,

Cross all the "t" and dot the "i",

Excluding any future "why".

Headmistress suddenly declared:

--No rent! I will not lease the class.

All parents' money is for us,

Five thousands for you we'll spare.

-- We spoke on thirty, not on five.

-- Five! Not a ruble more. Survive!

XXI

Deceived... Entangled, fooled and cheated.

He hung his head and went away.

"Why are mean women now seated

To head the schools?" -- regrets Andrey.

He'd loved this school. It had been dear,

Now it's alien and severe...

And what to do with pupils, who

Love him as their master true?

He wanted to discuss with father

His situation. Gloomy, sad

Dad tightly shut the door and said:

-- Hard blow: cancer struck your mother.

The swell in bosom .We're in need

Of money our Mum to treat...

XXII

-- It's being treated not in Russia,

In Germany. They best of all

Treat those swells, for ever crushing,

But take great money, -- father told.

-- Germany? As all imports now

Are primitive, I wonder, how

Can Europe or those States

Do anything, but spoilage, waste.

-- You're true: they care of the body,

Neglecting all spiritual life.

But if the body of my wife

They save, I'll bow, thank and toady,

I'll pay them any wanted sum

To save the body of your Mum.

XXIII

The single way for them is credits,

And senior Sokolov was quick.

"Sooner be done, than said", his habit,

Helped him to be a real "brick".

In trouble Negina Tatiana

Happened to be a real stunner:

Arranged the credit, too. This sum

She gave Andrey: "Treat dear Mum".

But he himself? As well as Zhenia?

Can they contribute or they can't?

Are they with money or they aren't,

And have in pockets not a penny?

"In Arts today one cannot earn",

As Edward time ago warned...

XXIV

What should be done with undertaking --

Art school is cherished, launched and loved...

Conscience can never be awakened

In him, who robs...How to safeguard?

The same remorse, and pain, and doubts

Torture his wife. She knows about

Being obliged to Sokolovs,

Who saved her Mummy and bestowed.

She thinks, to earn a bit endeavours.

To serve rich brutes? Oh, not her line:

Courtships of host, and hostess jealous...

She is for that too young and fine...

As now she is good for none,

She knows, what is to be done.

XXV

-- Andrey, do you recall the money,

Three hundred thousands? -- Zhenka said. --

Through you I left them for my Mummy,

You brought her food, she drank and ate.

You may divorce me and disdain --

All your dissuading will be vain.

I'll do the same to treat your Mum,

As all of us today are stumped.

Believe -- all dirt, humiliation

Are better, than the sense of guilt,

When self-respect and honour tilt.

Helplessness is above my patience.

My former trade can give us cash,

Despite its bitter moral gash.

XXVI

-- Are you delirious, dear girly? --

He disbelieved his ears and eyes. --

You want me see my wife be rolling

In mud? And seeking my advice?

-- I cannot do anything better.

The treatment problem must be settled.

-- The problem's solved by means of credits.

-- Which we'll pay back according habits.

-- You'll break us morally, my child.

Delirious is your sacrifice.

It's splendid -- and it terrifies,

It's pure -- and it's beastly, wild.

We'll gather, five of us, today

And we will find the normal way.

XXVII

-- You think of me, your loving, fondling.

You want to tread my love and life.

And, by the way, I'm more responding

For our budget, than my wife.

I'm called potboiling as a porter

And to retouch some coloured photoes,

Lukich invites me working with

After the mishap with the lease.

-- Matvey Lukich? Your dear tutor?

-- He. But he offers foreign trips,

When I am tied with home, deep,

For travels cannot be recruited;

Diploma canvas and Kid's School

Grasped me, to stay at home pull.

XXVIII

-- And Mum? Don't leave your poor Mummy.

-- It's she, who leaves us for Berlin.

And she will speak to aunty Tania,

Your mother, note-books within.3

One our relative, Berliner,

Will give Mum shelter. Am I sinner,

If I abroad earn pretty sum

For same aim -- treating Mum?

Matvey Lukich says, my returning

Will coincide with Mum's return.

Not to disturb her, I won't warn

Of that my absence (hunting earnings),

All with diploma I'll arrange,

But school will be beyond my range...

XXIX

-- And me? You will not miss me, darling?

-- You do, throw off your crazy plan.

Let our children's school will thriving

In your untiring quick hands.

We, Russian, like self-sacrificing

And heroism. I am advising

To leave this childish heroism,

Valuing steps through brainy prism.

Let's spare nerves of one another

And put aside all your remorse.

Striving to better, you the worst

Can bring to me, to Mum and father.

Your heroism and sacrifice

Future will want -- not once, not twice.

XXX

German oncologists are special,

Those extra-doctors love your cash,

While hunting money (modern fashion)

For Sokolovs means moral crash.

Three hundred thousand of rubles

For one injection! All the cure

Consisting of such many pricks

Costs very high, the price is big.

But they, who live in Peter, learn:

In Moscow salaries are higher.

So doctor Sokolov desires

To go to Moscow and to earn.

Instead of monthly thirty-five

He'll have one hundred. Useful drive!

XXXI

Thus their father left for Moscow,

Mum's being treated in Berlin.

Andrey decides to make a hostel

Of their flat. He tries and wins.

Soon twenty tenants settled there,

They paid for lodging and for fair:

Zhenka approved the step at once

And cooked them dinner for 2 months.

Young couple lived with Zhenka's mother

In her not roomy cosy cell,

Lived friendly, happily and well,

And caring of one another.

They saw ill Mummy, when they looked

Into Tatiana's note-book.

XXXII

Is not it shame for all mankind --

To treat for millions? Shame and shock.

Who can afford in our time

Such treatment? Thieves, not honest folk.

Global authorities don't bother

Of the environment, much poisoned.

And cancer kills the Earth's folk,

Who can survive, may live and work,

And peoples weaken, culture withers.

Medicine is severed from the mass

With cynic antihuman brass

By our evil global wizards.

But we must live: believe and fight

For future. Let it be more bright...

XXXIII

My doctor Sokolov can't fathom

Why Moscovites are paid so high.

The same work. The better weather.

Why higher payment? Whence and why?

He understood the situation

As soon as heard the conversations

With newcomers, like him. Disdain

They met again and again.

No his opinion or objection!

Be like a puppet or a doll.

"Dislike? Then to your province stroll, --

At once will follow the rejection. --

Be tolerant, as mute as mule!" --

Such is in modern Moscow rule.

XXXIV

And people, coming with migration,

Put up with such humiliation.

In families, at native lands,

Kids wait for money to be sent.

"Moscow buys common toleration

In newcomers from different nations.

"For what the megapolice must

Seed toleration very fast? --

He thinks. -- Oh, for supporting those

Who'll bring to Russia newest spite.

Seeing "all wrong" we'll tell "all right",

And no protest will suppose."

And doctor fears, that again

To Russia comes its newest bane.

XXXV

He, Sokolov, will not allow

Insulting native Leningrad,

Whose poor people, anyhow,

Must work in Moscow, earning hard.

And once the woman, head physician

(Lady with poor erudition,

Tactless and rude) began to cry.

My Sokolov rebuffed her: "Why

Insulting words? Half-tone, dear!

Control yourself, you are at work.

It's clinic, not a wild stock

And not a crowd, drinking beer".

His colleagues witnessed that and thought:

"He will be fired, idiot."

XXXVI

And Sokolov himself prepared

To be dismissed for daring bent.

Could he predict those sudden, rare,

Even ridiculous events?

All clinic's staff, administration,

Shocked by his bold and proud action,

Began to fawn, ingratiate

(Relieving his routine and fate!)

The rumour spread about clinic,

That he was favoured from the top,

Like hidden agent or a cop

(A funny anecdote for cynics).

And panic-mongers can't endure,

That he is lonely and pure.

XXXVII

You, our Russia, has forgotten

Your former dignity and pride.

Your way by none was ever trodden,

Your victories were known wide.

Having united different nations

You could dictate the newest fashion

In science, Arts, in sports, in all,

Second to none on planet whole.

Freedom, equality and justice

Were symbols of the happy land,

And Soviet people, hand-by-hand,

Fresh gains, top advances mastered.

Now Soviet dash is dug in dust,

And market is new God for us.

XXXVIII

In all book-shops we witness (sorry!)

Vapid and feeble empty trash.

Mainly those books are foreign,

Home literature meets its crash.

The Art of Russian ballet's drooping,

And vocal Art is down stooping,

Bright gymnasts of the Soviet days

Have disappeared, flew away.

Ivan from Peter, top performer

Of "Triple saltoes of the age",4

Sees: all his records are in cage,

No such acrobats like formers.

His fine records can't attract

New bright successors. Gloomy fact...

XXXIX

Two or three decades -- and forgotten

Are proud names "human", "man",

And Russian dignity is rotten,

And bright mentality is banned.

My doctor Sokolov neglected

No ethic rules, when he corrected

His rude superior. But he shocked

All tolerating staff at work!

This fact can prove, that toleration

(The synonym for mental death)

Chose Russia as its new address --

The modern bane of our nation.

Intolerance to any brass

Must be the main rule with us.

...........................................................

XLI

It's time for Audrey's departing

To China, to the master-class.5

He gave his consent, regarding

The fact, that obstacles had passed.

As to his aid had come Marina,

Their bright student and prize-winner.

Replacing him in Kids' Art school,

Ready for their mutual pull:

No payment? But so often dealing

With kids, she'll gain useful skills,

Working instead of him, until

He can return. Her tender feelings

Live in her heart, not dying yet.

They grew in friendship and respect.

XLII

Andrey will earn his thorough money

And pay Marinka for her work.

(Avid headmistress is a garnet:

"Five and not thirty. No talk!").

His canvas, his "Shukshiniana"

Wants better finishing. My runner

Left it so far. Let canvas wait

For him in his post-graduate.

This honorable course was offered

To gifted junior Sokolov

By them, who even now strove

To real Art, neglecting profits.

Such sparks of justice still emerge.

Not all sell hearts for bribe and dodge.

XLIII

Things have come right. But constant worry:

How to leave quite uncontrolled

His crazy Zhenka? She may hurry

And realize her wicked stroll.

Will she put up with all her doubts,

That she's obliged for whereabouts,

For treated Mum, for all support, --

Or sacrifice all she has got?

Marinka... She is strong and clever.

She can support this silly child --

Too Russian: pure, bold and wild.

Marinka here must endeavour!

Disturbed, Andrey will leave and fly,

And work in China till July.

XLIV

He and Lukich were not alone --

Friends saw them off to the gangway.

But his Marinka has her own

(In private!) secret for Andrey:

-- Don't fear, -- she in private whispered, --

That indiscreet or even risking

Is trusting Zhenka in my charge,

As neither jealousy, nor grudge

I feel to your good-hearted girly.

I will protect her and support,

So work quite quietly abroad.

She will be comforted and jolly.

-- Marinka, thank you, dear friend! --

He's bowing to kiss her hand.

XLV

His Zhenka's also with a secret.

-- Mine is top secret! -- she insists.

And they seclude. Unwanted liquid

Shines in her eyes. Tremble her wrists.

She says to him with happy tears:

-- I knew that yesterday. But feared,

That you would cancel this your flight,

It was unfair from my side,

But now listen: you're a father,

As I am pregnant. Very soon --

Oh, it's indeed the happy boon. --

I will become a real mother!

For our baby, for its wealth

I will take care of my health.

CHAPTER VIII

Tatiana Negina is dealing

Through her compact small note-book

With mother of Andrey. She's feeling

Responsibility she took.

Having received the information,

She comments it in proper fashion

And sends to Moscow, to Peking,

Where live apart their friendly kin.

She registers all symptoms, pains.

She writes them down to be kept.

If they can't pay and intercept,

The treatment may renew again.

She makes her notes just in view,

That thorough treatment may renew.

They all are waiting for the mummy

From Germany to Leningrad.

And note-book (without money!)

Serves them, like honest kind guard.

And isn't it a real wonder,

If interlocutors at hundreds,

Thousands miles sit apart,

But see each other? We regard

It to be general and usual.

Who could believe in tricks like that

One hundred years ago? "Fad, --

Deceit! -- would people say. -- Illusion!"

We used to curse existing world

And seldom value its reward.

III

To meet his wife the doctor came,

Having removed his short weekend.

With master-class it was the same:

Two Russian masters home went.

As to the hostel (20 tenants!)

They paid a lot and left. Arena

Got free. The furniture returned

To former places. None's upturned.

Two girl-friends, Zhenia and Marina,

Cleaned all, washed, dusted for two days.

They ran to shops and markets. They

Together cooked the hearty dinner.

The flat is waiting for its hosts,

It is the same, as it was.

Andrey was lucky in his travel:

The master-class raised good response.

But what he told was work of devil!

Each gets indignant, when he learns.

-- Imagine, -- said he at the table, --

That Russian frontiers are not stable.

Siberia is on release --

In their maps it is Chinese!

We all are sure, that for ever

With China we are friends, in love.

Meanwhile someone from above

The Russian territory severs.

Is it officially or no

We, Russian, even do not know.

Oh, what went on! These ardent Russians...

They gathered for a table-talk,

Not for political discussions,

Which their table-party broke.

-- Who has the right, --Tatiana shouts, --

To sever our peaceful power?

And will we, like obedient mules,

Receive aggressors, their rules?

-- Another war? -- got frightened Zhenia, --

Andrey can soon be mobilized,

And killed, or wounded, paralyzed!

Who foists all that? What skunk's the senior?

These panic-mongers to besiege

Doctor delivered thorough speech:

-- I think, that we are too restricted,

When care much about land.

And Russia cannot be inflicted

Giving Siberia in rent.

Without bloodsheds and aggressions,

With friendly and humane confession

Countries must use the spare land --

Those, which have free working hands.

When Japanese vacuum-cleaners

Gather old needles of our pines,

While we can't use the wood, so fine,

I feel that we are avid sinners.

The planet must be common flat,

The Earth's folk will come to that.

VII

Defending frontiers was the duty

Since the beginning of the life --

To keep the order constituted,

To guard the property and wives.

But Soviet land, one-sixth of planet,

Whose frontiers were as hard as granite,

United different states inside,

Their former lands got single, wide.

Each national culture only gained,

Cross-breeding bettered national health,

All nations reached material wealth,

Fraternity and friendship reigned.

The Soviet practice has to teach

Mankind -- what it ought to reach.

VIII

-- And why are all of us in fear

Before the coming globalizm?

We all prefer to keep in rear,

Aside from newest cataclysms.

Why? Single kin of all the earthians

Is just of what mankind is worthy:

Half-breeds with language, understood

In all the global lands and routes.

What is the use of keeping nations?

They are "spilled milk" (Vdovin, forgive!).1

We must united world receive,

With newest ties, in modern fashion.

Communications nowadays

Allow taking these new ways.

-- Stop, dad! Why is damned market foisted

To rich and fair Soviet land?

Market is the disgusting poison,

Perishing all progressive tends, --

Andrey stopped eloquence of father.

-- All movements have some wrong false phases, --

His dad replied. -- We have such one,

As miser skunks the process run.

Giftless and avid, and quite brainless,

New global rulers robbed the cash

And make today their last dash

To stay and to remain reigning.

Their aim is to stupidify

The earthians for remaining "high".

-- Market is bane. I love my medicine,

My clinic, patients and my home,

But I abandoned them, got racing

To earn more money's dirty foam.

And you, Andrey, -- you went to China

Not for its landscapes, new and finer,

And not to make unusual sketch:

Your flight abroad could money fetch.

Today we, people, are unable

To organize all toiling folk,

Who honestly exist and work,

To throw the ruling beasts from stables.

Not globalizm, but globalists

Pull us to backwardness and mist.

All those incomes, profits, riches

Are quite amiss for intellect.

They aren't developing or hitching,

But tread it, kill it or neglect.

So Nickonov's fetish of money

Looks rather impotent and funny.

The Bolsheviks had better way,

But globalists pushed them away.

The Bolsheviks stormed Communism

With best production, common wealth,

With cultural and moral health,

With friendship and collectivism.

"Sovok" is killed by spies within,

But world received the specimen.

XII

-- There is a question, -- told Marina.--

Why didn't your "Sovok" include

Such land as China, if your winners

Were so prosperous and good?

Then not one-sixth, but just a quarter

Of earthians had the better quota.

Then other countries would have joined.

They could the common plans appoint,

Could live as single friendly nation,

With no enmity and fight,

And move to future, rich and bright,

With science, Arts, investigations.

-- We were too sure of success,

While hidden agents forged recess.

XIII

-- What hidden agents? Spies?

-- Not so.

Agents from our home riff-raff.

To skunks high posts had been bestowed,

Reports were often turned in bluff.

Look round. Many empty people

Today are mental, moral cripples.

And then were such, they killed "Sovok"

With their greed and giftless work.

You have refused to take the money

For all your lessons in Art School,

But other greedy girls would pull

Much more from my suggesting sonny.

-- Let her refuse, -- replied Andrey, --

I to her parents will pay.

XIV

-- Well. But return to our point.

"Sovok" did overestimate

Inner devotion, inner joint

Among its mere Soviet mates.

And Belovezhskiy painful shame

Would not have won its dirty game,

If all had stood against it.

We could withstand, we could defeat

Them, who was foisting wicked market,

Who severed nations and estranged.

We had to strong rebuff arrange,

Send resolutions to waste-bucket.

We were as mute, as silly mules,

So now live on wicked rules.

-- I think, that our fatal mischief

Was overestimating brutes.

Their hegemony is mythic:

Benighted leaders can't be good, --

Said Mummy, up to that quite silent. --

May be, it sounds somewhat violent,

But smatterers can't lead ahead,

With them we lost all we had had.

For serious new social project

Best intellectuals at head

Are wanted. And with brutes instead

We'll have but blunders, faults and dodging.

The more a project is profound,

The better brains must be found.

XVI

-- I can't take in! -- exclaimed Zhenka, --

Is it a meeting? What is it?

I'm tired of discussions, thank you!

We'd better drink and eat a bit.

Andrey! Pour out pretty wine.

And all political designs,

All problems -- let's seclude from that.

Enough of them, we are quite fed.

Let's drink for Russia, as we have it,

For those, who saved me and my Mum.

Who could collect tremendous sum

And worked a lot, and had been severed.

For Russia! For my Leningrad.

For all of us, at last. Vivat!

XVII

And all supported: "Bravo, Zhenia.

We gathered not for high debate,

Too long, and useless, and extending,

But just to drink for lucky fate".

The glasses clinked, the smiles blooming,

And all got gay, and none was gloomy,

And was quite conscious everyone,

That their tender friendship won.

In glee the dishes were so tasty,

And each could find his proper wine,

And vase of fruit was very fine,

And none to leave the party hastened.

Lucky efforts rejoice us deeply,

Mutual ones rejoice us triply.

XVIII

-- I wonder, why this charming lady

Fears to have a bit of wine?

Were not you, Zhenechka, just ready

To raise carousel? Did not try? --

Asked doctor. Zhenia did not answer,

Got shy and at her husband glancing.

-- Listen, if you are unaware:

She's of her future baby cares, --

Andrey with pride said to his father. --

She is avoiding any wine,

It's recommended, it's her line,

As she is our waiting mother.

-- Hurrah! -- cried Dad with happy face,

Kissed our Zhenka and embraced.

XIX

My dear readers! It's the time

To part with friendly Sokolovs.

Our impressions, our rhymes

Now must take another flows.

Let them be happy at the party

And in the life, so hard and gusty,

We, sober, alien and strange,

Will be amiss in their range.

It would be the last straw, if asking

Marina of her far Kurgan

(From which a letter just has run).

Or, readers, we could touch ill casket

With memory of hard school days,

Which for my Zhenka passed away.

Nastasia, Zhenka's former playmate,

Met early death because of wine.

After the drinks (and they were daily)

She vanished , nobody could find.

She was thirteen. Her corpse was found

Half-rotten. It's within new bounds.

Russia knew no drunk females --

Today they first run off the rails...

Young Veronica is alive,

Loudly dressed , like modern brutes,

Whose shameful trade is taking roots

In "Nevskiy Brothels" dirty hive,

Hers is admitted newest "toil".

But normal parties it would spoil.

XXI

Life in the province is not better.

Marina's classmate, former friend,

As she's informed with her last letter,

Became a dope-fiend, met his end....

Neighbours of Negina Tatiana

Yesterday buried their sonny --

Dope-addicted -- young and dear,

In block -- fourth victim for a year!

Young people now got degraded:

Uneducated, badly read,

All ugly-dressed and some too fat,

They prove, that Russian nation faded.

But Russian "iceberg" is not seen

For them, who cannot look within.

XXII

All modern lads in western garment,

Ear-ringed chaps, half-naked maids --

Aren't the youth (all these new barmen,

Waiters and servants, miser waste.)

The THIRD World War is very cruel.

It does not use atomic fuel,

Mine shells and high-explosive bombs --

Kills human spirits and aplomb.

But Russia keeps its real youths,

Worthy of Soviet past indeed.

Despite alive corpses breed,

They seek creation, not amuses.

Russia is iceberg: hides within

Its treasures. Garbage is quite seen...

XXIII

Look at the older generation,

Garbage's parents, dads and mums.

Deaf to the life of their nation,

They strive to money, making sums.

Avoiding books, scientific news,

They from the culture got refused.

Music, and opera, and Art

Are far beyond the new regard.

They have new hobby -- dogs are cherished.

With dogs they may not think at all

Both at home and in stroll.

Dogs help them aimless time to perish,

To fill the dull and sleepy day

With vigour, bestial and gay.

XXIV

May be, chess clubs and other contests

Attract the brain of modern men?

No. For them they aren't potent,

Instead there are some newest trends.

Such as the football fanatism

With all its strange idiotism

(Ten profies run, ten thousands sit).

Is it for masses health quite fit?

Intelligentsia, however,

Enjoys the bright creative work,

And neither football, nor home dogs

Invade the mental sphere -- never:

"Russia had won THE TWO WORLD WARS,

THE THIRD WAR will be won, of course".

XXV

Let's now part, my dear readers.

I can foresee your just rebukes

To me, an imitator feeble,

With scanty gift and queer looks.

And "Negina" -- why this surname?

With "Anna S-Negina" the same? 2

Or with "O-Negina"? 3

-- It's fun! --

May say, who read that. Everyone!

I must agree. I am ashamed,

As parodies two mastermen

A layman, spoiling specimen,

Who undertook unfair game.

Let two great poets excuse

My foisting miserable muse.

XXVI

But mark! The heroes in the poems

By these two famous mastermen

Were far from Russia, its reforming,

Its perspectives and main tend.

Young Snegina's in London suffering,

And her nostalgia is muffling

In vain, as she's far away

From Russia with its happy days.

And her Yesenin, gifted author,

Having rejected army's coat

(Here I him himself may quote)

"Became a mere small deserter".

They stand aside from Russian life,

Its mighty and historic drive.

XXVII

Recall the heart of "poor Tania".

Her chosen one and her beloved

Rejected all her pure yearning

And soon himself remained debarred.

But my two heroes have never

Betrayed the choice, made once for ever.

They never squander inner gust

And strive to them, whom love and trust.

The elixir of life, presented

To Russian people by "Sovok",

Made hearts be patient, taught to stoke

The real feelings, thrice prevented.

Despite the obstacles and spite

Hearts are invincible in fight.

XXVIII

Grand-grand-grandfathers time ago

Were very violent and bright,

Preparing the mortal blow

To hidden globalists. The fight

First went in flat of "wild Nikita",

"Discreet Ilya" them, too, admitted.4

And, outnumbered, as had been,

Orators planned revolts within.

Russia was writhing under serfdom,

The glimpse of freedom seemed so far,

But none could frighten, stop, retard

The brave fighters, killed not seldom.

Let history serve as the pledge --

Great Revolution got arranged!

XXIX

-- But stop! -- some readers are objecting. --

Wreckers have brushed "Sovok" away.

Disorder is in Russia acting,

It is degrading nowadays.

The miser damned philistinism

You have instead of Communism.

Neither economy, nor flight.

People half-sleep. They are deprived

Of any interests, high aims.

The colony of other states,

Your Russia for its crashing waits.

And didn't Edward think the same?

-- Yes, life got primitive and hard,

But mind: we bring "Sovok" in blood!

XXX

And armed with truth -- profound, witty,

Grand-grand-grandchildren, yours and mine,

Will come again to "wild Nikita" 5

Or to Ilya with new design --

To change the global skunks for ever

For mastermen -- wise, active, clever

Inside the Earth's Ruling Board,

And life will take its proper road

On flourishing and peaceful planet

Of single nation -- earthians,

Highly developed, friendly men,

Whose brains' might will fly to zenith,

And Universe, like native Mum,

Will trust them all its enigmas.

COMMENTARY

Chapter I

I So-called re-building ("perestroyka") begun in the Soviet Union in the 80-ies cancelled all large agricultural enterprises working on the state land. The attempt to change them for petty private farms failed throughout the country, since then the land mainly lies fallow. As a result we have the crash of the agriculture and the "wild" mass urbanization in Russia.

2 Simultaneously the Soviet highly developed industry was destroyed, the largest profitable plants got cancelled. To imitate the mass employment (see famous "Plan of Dalles") a lot of needless offices and agencies were invented to create jobs for new numerous clerks. That complicates and retards any social arrangement.

3 Ref. to A.S.Pushkin, "Eugene Onegin", chapter III.

4 Ref. to A.S.Pushkin, "Eugene Onegin", chapter VIII.

5 Nevskiy Prospect is the main street in St.-Petersburg. Morskaya is the renamed street named after A.Hertsen. Kazanskiy (cathedral) is in Nevskiy Street. Church-on-the Blood was built on the spot of the Russian Tsar's murder. Duma's needle is the impressing building in Nevskiy prospect (since 1917 no "Duma" in it). Publichka is a conversational name of the State National library at the corner of Nevskiy and Sadovaya streets.

Chapter II

1 The winter seasons of 2005-2008 in Leningrad were exceptionally snowless and warm. Meanwhile, it was baseless to think, that some foreign invaders changed our climate to their taste. The heroes of A.S.Pushkin's "Eugene Onegin", for example, saw the first snow in St-Petersburg in January (chapter V).

2 Allusion to chapter V ("Eugene Onegin" by A.S.Pushkin).

3 In 1991 despite the mass meetings of protest both within the town and throughout the country the government renamed the heroic city of Leningrad into pre-revolutionary alien St-Petersburg.

4 The mass protest of the population against building the sky-scraper in the centre of Leningrad entailed the desirable ban, the project was removed to the outskirts, and the architectural ensembles were saved.

5 Wrong are the modern Russian mass media using the term "corbusievschina" in the sense of spoiling the classic architectural ensembles with intruding sky-scrapers. The gifted French architect and the author of sky-scrapers Corbusier planned to have his "needles" among virgin nature, all urban communications and transport functioning underground.

6 Many people in Russia suspect the crash of the two sky-scrapers (The Trade Centre, USA) to be initiated by the US Government to justify the aggression in Iraq, but the authenticity of the version hasn't been verified.

Chapter III

1 To break the progressive socialist system the new authorities of Leningrad, despite the protests of people renamed the streets to erase from the memory the revolutionary past of Russia. The street named after Zheliabov became Koniushennaya, the one named after Hertsen received the name Morskaya and Saltikov-Schedrin Street is now Kirochnaya.

2 Up to the 80-ies Russia did not know obesity. The lowering of the living standards went together with the obesity, which isn't a paradox. The entailing factors are the following: a) the loss of bright vital aims and therefore the weakened inner impulses; b) canceling all mass physical culture and sports, so popular and free of charge in the USSR; c) mass gluttony, as new imported food with its disgusting taste is unable to satisfy, and this displeasure and insufficiency eaters take for hunger.

3 Drug-addiction spread simultaneously with the "rebuilding" became not awful and shameful, we used to speak of it openly.

4 Ugly tattoo and piercing came to Russian youths instead of the former tend to physical perfecting their bodies.

5 "Half-naked" women and girls appeared in Russia since 80-90-ies, with the loss of morality and former culture.

6 "Sovok" (the Russian version for "shovel") is the spread and foisted by modern mass media disdained nick-name for the great Soviet epoch, which allegedly had a shovel as a single achievement of its technology and engineering (With a shovel won Hitlerism in 1945? With a shovel launched "sputniks" and sent the first cosmonaut? -- I.I.).The Russian people began to decipher "Sovok" as "Sovershenstvo" (something utterly perfect).

7 The figures embrace only the Leningradskaya region.

8 Nickola Tesla (1856-1943), the great luminary in science, Croatian physicist, famous for his discoveries in electricity, electronics and other fields of natural sciences.

9 The mightiest explosion in the basin of the Tunguska-river (Russia) in 1908, which had been ascribed to a meteorite, is regarded nowadays as the quite possible warning action by Nickola Tesla to make the earthians more discreet and cautious with the hidden energetics of nature.

Chapter IV

1 Since the end of the XX century the clothes of the population in Russia imitating foreign loud and tasteless patterns became ugly. It's a problem nowadays to buy a sweater or trousers without ugly stupid faces and mottoes (mainly Roman alphabet).

2 So-called "Ball dancing classes" spread in secondary schools and beyond them are disgusting, imitating something near group-sex games of primeval tribes.

3 Povilitsa, both Cheskidovas (O.U. and the daughter) are gifted modern painters of the realistic school.

4 Fediunin F.V. (born 1968) is a pedagogue of The Arts Academy named after Repin, a worthy successor of Russian realistic traditions whose works at the home and international exhibitions prove that.

5 Nickonov A.P. is a modern gifted author of numerous books, mainly of the sociological character, behind the bright style of which a clever reader sees the hatred to the Soviet achievements and to Russian nation and the apology of material enrichment.

6 Read A.Nickonov, "Freedom from Any Equality and Brotherhood", 2008, page 18.

7 The same book (see "6" above, page 99): "You would never deprive common folk of their main feature, that is their pathological stupidity".

8 A.Nickonov, "Opium for Peoples".

Chapter V

l Andreyev A.V. (born.1955) was the chief-editor of the newspaper "New Petersburg" in 1993-2007.

2 Andruschenko N.S. (born 1943) is a lawyer, an active author of "New Petersburg" both before and after his arrest.

3 Shutov U.T. (born 1946) is a journalist, a writer and a politician. For his articles in "New Petersburg", his famous book "How Russian Riff-raff Was Being "Tempered", exposing the unlawful privatization in Russia he was arrested, tortured and sentenced to the lifetime jail.

4 The woman-writer Ethel Lilian Voinich is the author of the widely known novel "Gadfly" and other works (1864-1960, born in Ireland).

5 Anna Zegers is a progressive writer (Germany, the middle of the XX century); Agatha Christy is an English writer, the leading author of the detective genre in the world literature; Zhorzh Sand (Amandina Aurora Lucil, 1804-1876) is a famous French writer.

6 The novel "Uncle Tom's Cabin" translated into many foreign languages and written by Hurriet Bicher Stow (The USA) is the bright protest against the discrimination of Negroes in the Southern states of her native America.

7 Panova V.F. (1905-1973) is the Soviet writer, whose novels "Kruzhilikha", "The Times of the Year" and others picture the creative activity and vigour of Soviet contemporaries.

8 Mariya Puymanova (Czechoslovakia) is a gifted progressive writer of the XX century.

9 Inber V.M. (1890-1972), Akhmatova (Gorenko) A.A. (1889-1966) are outstanding Soviet poetesses.

10 Stakhov V.P. (l918-2009) is a writer, the doctor of sciences, who enriched besides literature also medicine, construction of violins and contributed in many fields.

Chapter VI

1 "Virgin Lands" is the name of the great All-Union campaign for developing the virgin and fallow lands of Kazakhstan and Altay begun in the USSR by the volunteer enthusiasts under the head of the state since 1953.

2 Here the unlawful agreement of only 3 representatives (instead of 15) on the dismissal of the Soviet Union in Belovezhsk is meant (the illegal act took place in December 1991, the black date in the history of the country).

3 "Ghetto" is the conversational name for the new-built outskirts of Leningrad with their needle-like houses of utterly small, not roomy flats-cages.

4 Shukshin V.M. (1929-1974) is an outstanding masterman of literature, who knew, loved and described brilliantly the Russian characters and Russian country-side. The Laureate of Lenin Prize, the USSR.

Chapter VII

1 The attempt of the Russian government to induce some religious subjects in secondary mass schools was unlucky thanks to the mighty protest of the population. The indignation of the people was supported by the leading scientists of the country. The attempt of one headmaster to organize the mass compulsory praying of kids was resolutely banned.

2 The modern government of Russia in earnest prepares the new project, according to which Russian children must study only 3 theoretical subjects and have lessons of physical culture. For the other subjects parents will have to pay if desirable.

3 Note-book is a walkie-talkie portable computer with the function of videophone.

4 The most complicated somersault--the triple salto with the 540-degree turn (a full turn and a half round the vertical axis of the body) was demonstrated at the Byelorussia Championship of 1989 in Minsk by the outstanding performer from Leningrad Ivan Fediunin (born 1966). Up to now none in the world has dared to imitate the record and hardly it will be repeated soon in the XXI century.

5 Master-class is a course of perfecting skills for a group of professional painters headed by their colleague of a higher class. Modern Russian painters paid utterly badly in Russia are wanted abroad, where they are paid properly and can earn some money for living on.

Chapter VIII

1 Vdovin A.I. is a famous modern historian, a Moscow University professor and a writer. In his works concentrates on many national problems, neglecting the perspectives of the modern nationalities and some other aspects of the national question, which influence the life on the globe.

2 "S-Negina" is an allusion (the main heroine of C.A.Yesenin's famous poem is Anna Snegina).

3 O-Negina is an allusion (the main hero of A.S.Pushkin's novel is Eugene Onegin).

4, 5 Another allusions (read A.S.Pushkin's "Eugene Onegin", chapter X).

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Аннотация: Where"s gust to life, self-realizing? (Non-Viazemskiy) It was not written for amusing: Raised by the love to YOU, my YOUTH, I drew your portrait, now losing Its zest. Not hurting or abuse Possessed and ruled my pen, so kind. I offered YOU a glance behind At the bright epoch, which forewent And took away its glorious bent. Nowadays not all are sleepy, Not all best trends are dug in dust. So every youngster can and must Enrich his life, perfect and deepen. Material wealth, increasing cash Never let human souls blossom. Not market, but spiritual dash Must live inside each youngster"s bosom. Author

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Eugeniya Negina