Слободкина Ольга
Weekend in Peredelkino

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  • © Copyright Слободкина Ольга (olga_slobodkina@mail.ru)
  • Размещен: 02/11/2005, изменен: 18/11/2014. 4k. Статистика.
  • Миниатюра: Поэзия
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    •    Olga Slobodkina-von Bromssen
      
      
      
      
       THE WRITERS' HOME
      
      
       And only now
       do I appreciate those years
       when writers came to stay here...
      
       We got together in the dining-hall
       to scatter later all around our rooms.
      
       Those evenings in the dining-hall...,
       for which you had to dress
       (not to the nines - no evening dresses,
       morning suites and all - no, not at all.
       They were creative people -
       that strange community of writers),
      
       I mean to dress at least to feel so smart.
      
       I thought I did not need them,
       those Soviet writers,
       those Sovietiques,
       Homo Sovieticus...
      
      
       But now that they are gone,
       this mystic place,
       this former Writers' Home
       becoming so commercial and eerie,
      
       I see the difference...
      
       The dining-hall is all about three tables,
       a fancy restaurant on the terrace
       where the rich
       or nearly the rich
       are celebrating their age.
      
       And here the TV's yelling in your ear
       about all the problems
       you yearned to leave behind so much,
       for which you paid a lot of money.
      
       Nobody talks about literature or arts.
       Nobody looks at you.
       Nobody tells you are talented,
       but arrogant,
       derisive,
       selfish,
      
      
       that you ignore their company,
       that you should urgently give them away
       the rare copies of your rare book -
       hand-written, book of an artist,
       just because they want it.
      
       Now gloomy people eat
       without even saying "Hello",
       without even smiling at each other,
       without even talking.
      
       And when they do disperse around their rooms
       I feel they're doing anything, but writing...
      
       That writing of those writers of the past
       inspired me, although they couldn't imagine.
      
       Now... I am missing them,
       that time,
       the past...
      
      
       and actually only three years ago...
       but they have made the change.
      
       Oct.13, 2005
      
       * * *
      
       And yet
       these lonely alleys with dry leaves and lanterns
       both festive and mysterious,
       fresh air,
       October chills
       getting you ready for colds
       and stars - so high above, higher than trees,
       and Mozart playing in my head...
      
       Oct. 13, 2005
      
       * * *
      
       `t was raining the whole of last night...
       I woke up to listen
       to those rhythmic pours,
       intensive like opera choirs.
      
       And in the morning
       sunshine came by
       `s if summer is back
       and I'm little again
       and those who are gone
       have returned...
      
      
       The Magic is here.
      
       Or maybe I've died
       to wake up for the New
       More Perfect and Beautiful Life...
      
       Oct.14,2005
  • © Copyright Слободкина Ольга (olga_slobodkina@mail.ru)
  • Обновлено: 18/11/2014. 4k. Статистика.
  • Миниатюра: Поэзия
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