# Exclusive publishing series by Olga Slobodkina-von Bromssen. Part V

Ольга Слободкина

1. What would this world be like

if the Sky

did not shake

from time to time

to dawn on those

who

It puts poetry through...?


Jan. 20 2010


***


2. Arabian DREAMLIGHT lamp


Dreamlight

lights up an Arabian City,

the City of a Thousand and One night...


You'll never go through a thousand.

but one

can be read quickly,

like a tale of your life.


Its flame looms in the sky

of the white ceiling -

a lunar eclipse.


The minarets carry their towers

to asymmetric stars -

that's what they look like

in the Islamic world -

and the houses smoke their fumes to God...


Allah!


This is not the magic of the childhood,

nor the euphoria of the youth.


This is art,

spiritual drug of maturity -

the invisible hookah,

whose fragrances

are repose for the soul,

like a prayer.


I'm praying for your soul...


My friend!

Life is so short.

Only a moment of love...


I'm looking

at the Arabian City,

its being...

And breathe in the magic of the night,

just one,

that can be read,

like the tale of your life.


May 21, 2000


مصباح دريم لايت العربي


دريم لايت

تضيء مدينة عربية,

مدينة الألف وليلة...


عليك أبدا التعامل مع الآلاف.

لكن واحد

يمكن قراءتها بسرعة,

مثل حياتك الخاصة.


لهبها يلوح في السماء

من السقف الأبيض

مثل خسوف القمر.


المآذن تحمل أبراجها

إلى النجوم غير المتماثلة -

هذه هي الطريقة التي تبدو

في العالم الإسلامي -

والبيوت تدخن أبخرتها إلى الله...


الله!


هذا ليس سحر الطفولة,

ولا نشوة الشباب.


هذا هو الفن,

المخدرات الروحية للنضج -

الشيشة غير المرئية,

الذي العطور

هي راحة للروح,

هم مثل الصلاة.


أنا أصلي من أجل روحك...


صديقي!

الحياة قصيرة جدا.

مجرد لحظة حب...


أنا أبحث

في هذه المدينة العربية,

كيانها...

وتنفس في سحر الليل,

واحد فقط,

تلك التي يمكن قراءتها,


21 مايو 2000


***


3.Patterns on the mirror


The eye's disappeared...

for I did not look into it,

and when the energy's gone,

the thing dies away,

evanesces,

and yet

it continues its essence

like life itself -

in full action

mint in your mind,

in your soul - a reflection...


It was clear -

that was a gray-haired man,

black,

close-cropped,

with a neat

gray-haired

beard.


He was looking at me

as if he had seen me before -

ay!


A frisky boy

was playing nearby

with his colored light rattle

as it goes in the lore.


In the distance there were zebras,

a high brazier,

and on the stakes sat exotic sculls.


Africa! - cried out my heart.

But the patterns were melting,

really quickly...

This image, this sign

and a different existense

were shown to me all of a sudden

on the surface of the clear mir-

ror.


Feb.17, 2006

Written in Russian and translated by me into English


3.أنماط على المرآة


اختفت العين...

لأنني لم ننظر في الأمر,

وعندما ذهبت الطاقة,

الشيء يموت بعيدا,

إيفانسيس,

و بعد

تواصل جوهرها

مثل الحياة نفسها -

في العمل الكامل

النعناع في عقلك,

في روحك-انعكاس...


كان واضحا -

كان ذلك رجل ذو شعر رمادي,

أسود,

إغلاق اقتصاص,

مع أنيق

رمادي الشعر

اللحية.


كان ينظر إلي

كما لو كان قد رآني من قبل -

آي!


لعوب الولد

كان يلعب في مكان قريب

مع حشرجة الضوء الملونة

كما يذهب في العلم.


في المسافة كانت هناك الحمر الوحشية,

نحاس عالية,

وعلى الرهانات جلس المجاذيف الغريبة.


أفريقيا! - صرخ قلبي.

لكن الأنماط كانت تذوب,

حقا بسرعة...

هذه الصورة ، هذه العلامة

وجود مختلف

وقد تبين لي فجأة

على سطح مير واضح-

رور.


فبراير.17, 2006

مكتوبة باللغة الروسية وترجمتها لي إلى اللغة الإنجليزية


***


4. Have you seen a bird of prey in winter?

When the rocks stand like gray-haired elders,

And the shaggy wolves on their hungry path

Wander through frozen hollows.


Everything's white. Everything's still.

Only a predatory flight

Vigilantly circles in the gloom of the swollen skies,

Spinning the invisible lace in the mountain throat...

The stone forest spinning in his eyes.


So inaudible is the gliding of the hawk

What it merges with the silence of the rocks,

The hush takes in the wings caressing the air

In a terrible secret, preparing a lethal landslide.


The stone erasing roar of mad rivers

- rushing down from the top, their heads first -

Does not reach here.

And God forbid that you get sick with the dumbness

Of the nameless demon of these lands.


Everything's white. Everything's still.

Only Time passes by,

But slowly. The speed of time is constrained.

It is moved just by the bird's flight -

Not to let you forget about Death.


Winter 1989

The Tsey Gorge, North Osetia


***


To our teacher, Grant Aleksandrovich Genzhentsev


Youth Adventure Club. Reunion...

A sea of memories

associations...

But it's great.

Just look at us!


Now there's no need to be afraid!-

all the destinies are in full view...

Something has been fulfilled, a success,

something didn't work out,

something was not right at all,

something has simply passed...


But... you can breathe calmly -

now noth-

ing can be changed withal...


Youth Adventure Club. Reunion...

Stylish porcelain room,

where I find (nostalgie)

a tea set "Golden Reindeer",

which stood

in the carved sideboard

of my granny Iri-

na

in Ulansky Pereulok, Central Moscow,

where we used to live...


Now

everything is in The Upper World,

in the Other Rea-

lity...

Everything is as it is...


And here

songs rush into the starry night,

guitar strings ring...

I look at the almost old gyus

recognizing them as young things...


But...

We're still strong!

We can still do a lot!


Who was rude

is still so -

ok...

Some have tenderer ways,

some have a careful way...


They say,

before you sit down to write a book

of memoirs,

the author needs to put on a white frock

coat -

to link

the rents

of silence

by ties...


So let's not recollect bad pies!

Let's cast

them off.

Those times

were filled with life

and happiness -

we are all involved in the past.


Youth Adventure Club. Reunion...

What we experienced back then!

And now - we can only sing songs

without straining the veins.


And where would we be

if it weren't for our teacher...

Oh, he was great!

We'd wander along

our own life paths...

It's all solely by his grace.


(In the Palace of Creativity

you can see

his face)


And today we wouldn't extract

from the geological layers of the mind

these melodies

of the pastime,

drawing them up in the air,

knowing the patterns,

raising the shafts high

and straightening the panels of ancient banners -

priceless treasures of consciousness -

in simple choruses...


No longer

are many of us...


But...

we remember them -

memories! -

friends continue their exis-

tence

in our hearts

at least...


On the threshold of the old age

we bow our heads...


Full -

to the visible edge -

are our hikes:

the Caucas-

us,

Lake Seliger, the Istra River,

Dagestan and Karelia...

You can go on with this list...

This old world

became new for us...


Reunion of the Youth Adventure Club...

Everyone is inside themselves thinking about their own...

But it's great - just look at us!

God willing, we'll sing again!


Oct.3, 2023. Translated by me from my eponymous poem in Russian