Poems of Alexi Mozgovoy (Brain) - Translated by Valdimir Suchan

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Re: Poems of Alexi Mozgovoy (Brain) - Translated by Valdimir Suchan

Post by blindpig » Mon Feb 17, 2020 3:31 pm

My rendering of Alexey Mozgovoy's poem No. 9 (To Donbass, Mozgovoy's Prophetic Poem No. 2)


And so the blood is spilled

On the steppe far and wide,

And downhill into the gulch

Is rolling a poor man’s skull.


His head was caught and cut,

May nightingales’ tunes now

Deafly pass through the man

Whose cap fell on the grass.


Only the crows so deep in black

Circle above the chap so calm, so still.

And even if his beloved were to sing,

His heart’s strings would not be stirred.


His mother won’t see him again,

But grief is coming in instead,

And so his dear father may be seen

As he walks in silence to the solemn fields.


Say, how many young and brave

Quietly fill the steppe’s embrace?

And heaven too is like a prize

Made of their falcon souls.


In vain does the demons’ tribe,

The enemy, rage and strive!

Soon again Donbass will arise,

And so will its armies come!


And noble wrath, ярость

Благородная, will sing

In the Don’s fatherly waves!

And now let the nightingale play

With Cossacks proud and free!



***

Расплескалась кровушка,

По степи широкой.

Вниз катись головушка,

К балочке глубокой...


Не носить фуражечки,

Срубленной головушке.

Не слыхать бедняжечке,

Майского соловушки...

Только ворон чёрненьнький,

Над убитым кружится.

А казак молоденький,

С милой не, подружится.

Не дождётся матушка,

В сердце её горюшко.

Выйдет тихо батюшка,

Без сыночка в полюшко.


Сколько их, молоденьких,

Степь собой наполнили.

Души их - соколики,

Небо всё заполнили...


Только зря беснуется,

Вражье племя чёрное.

Скоро Дон пробудится,

Встанет войско новое!


Зашумит Дон-Батюшка,

Всколыхнётся волнами!

Заиграй соловушка,


С казаками вольными!

http://vladimirsuchan.blogspot.com/2...voys-poem.html
"There is great chaos under heaven; the situation is excellent."

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Re: Poems of Alexi Mozgovoy (Brain) - Translated by Valdimir Suchan

Post by blindpig » Mon Feb 17, 2020 3:32 pm

My rendering of Alexey Mozgovoy's poem No. 10
This poem reads like Alexey Mozgovoy's Life-Fate's own lyrical Manifest.

The poem is inspired by Alexander Grin's early Soviet (hence late) Romantic novel, Crimson Sails (or Scarlet Sails), which seems to address the very issue with which I have become myself preoccupied, but only now at this later stage of my life: 1) What is poetry and the act of creation is meant to do for humanity's struggle and emancipation? 2) How come that the immortal and the wisest, most divine in man and woman--the universal soul--is seemingly so easily and commonly lost or switched off for us--by us? 3) What should we be doing in order to turn our intelligence (the soul) on?

In this regard, Mozgovoy, his character, his thoughts, his leadership, his words, and also his poems, contain much of the answers to the above questions which I sought.

The fact that the post-Soviet/anti-Soviet regime feared Mozgovoy more than it fears Nazis in Ukraine (whom, in the form of its oligarchs, it calls their "partners") speaks volumes. But only to those who have an ear (and a soul) for hearing what Mozgovoy says and continues to speak. To those deaf to his great spirit he does not say much and, I am afraid, he also has very little to say. To the rest of us, Mozgovoy is and remains an epiphany. A light lit in the dark. A voice of a brave and wise man.

A father of Novorossiya.

The book, Crimson Sails, was published in 1923. Interestingly, Grin's novel (the ambiance and inspiration) and the last portion of his life is tied namely to Crimea. A movie based on the novel was made in 1961.

The name of the ideal, romantic love of the novel, also referred to by Mozgovoy in his poem, is believed to be a slightly encrypted command, message reading: "Up to the sun!" Quite a Platonic idea or imperative, if you ask me. In English, downward oriented readers or spirits will undoubtedly only see one poor earthly animal or the Rear, which served Apuleius as a vehicle for a great Platonist satire.

***

Even if crimson doesn’t dye my sails
And I am in the steppe—not at sea …
But I wrestled with hurdles too
Just to catch a sight of you.

Or the caress in your gentle voice,
Whose fresh trembling makes me flow,
So, in your fairy tale, I might be caught,
For without that I would not live.

Let the sapphire of the shoreless seas
Throw the ropes off restless ships!
Let my dream be lucid as a mountain spring,
And that stream will be my fated fill!

There I will reach the Isle of Bliss,
My Al-Sol, my soul in the evening red.
For her only I no longer fear death
Unless we wouldn’t meet again …


PS:

The more there is that again,
The more the new does pain contain,
So does in Russian большe, “more,” “again,”
Include боль, “pain,” “complaint,”

Until all that as love at last translates,
And like lovers the start joins the end,
For only such love, which lasts till then,
May ever cross the shoreless space.

***

Пусть мои паруса и не алые,
И не море, а степь подо мной...
Но прошёл я преграды не малые,
Что бы встретится снова с тобой.

Что бы голосом нежным и ласковым,
Напоён был как водами рек.
Да пленён, что бы был я сказками,
Без которых, не жив, человек.

Синь морская, безбрежная - дальняя,
Коль прикажешь корабль снарядить.
Пусть мечта моя, будет хрустальная,
Я смогу её в жизнь воплотить!

Я дойду до заветного берега,
Паруса мои встретит Ассоль...
Не страшит меня крик буревестника,
Мне страшнее, не встретится - боль...

http://vladimirsuchan.blogspot.com/2...ys-poem_7.html
"There is great chaos under heaven; the situation is excellent."

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Re: Poems of Alexi Mozgovoy (Brain) - Translated by Valdimir Suchan

Post by blindpig » Mon Feb 17, 2020 3:32 pm

My rendering of Aleksey Mozgovoy's poem No. 11
Angels

Under the coat of pallid fogs
Angels come down to see us,
And there’s only one reason—
To keep us from treason and evil.

In their sacrifice, they illumine
The dark, the sin—its face, its stink
—just to spare, just to save life
And soul on the ages’ course.

Thus, saving us, do angels die,
When through the fight we pass
Unseeing—in the rush into a sin,
Past and by angels’ broken wings.

Over corpses thus we rush and run
To meet the end, but not the soul.
Oh, if only we may comprehend
That angels for us chose to die!


***

Ангелы


К нам ангелы спускаются с небес,
Под покрывалом белого тумана.
Всего один у них здесь интерес,
Нас удержать от злобы и обмана.

Собою жертвуя, дают они нам свет,
Во тьме греховности, убогости и смрада.
На протяжении многих тысяч лет,
Спасение душ, одна у них отрада.

И гибнут ангелы в бою, спасая нас,
А мы и знать не знаем, их тревоги.
В пути лишь грех приумножаем каждый час,
А крылья ангелов, в грязи, вдоль всей дороги.

Вперёд идём, по трупам, к цели!
Рассудок наш в иллюзиях погряз.
Ах, если бы понять только успели,
Что гибнут, гибнут ангелы за нас...


Posted by Vladimír Suchan at 1:35 PM

http://vladimirsuchan.blogspot.com/2...voys-poem.html
"There is great chaos under heaven; the situation is excellent."

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Re: Poems of Alexi Mozgovoy (Brain) - Translated by Valdimir Suchan

Post by blindpig » Mon Feb 17, 2020 3:33 pm

My rendering of Aleksey Mozgovy's poem No. 12
And thus the Fall

Mozgovoy Aleksey Borisovich,
Thus the Fall came, and just as before
With leaves made of worn-out gold,
And in the gray of callous rain,
Thus again here is the cleansing Fall.

The rain is tapping—I hear, the time
Is stepping with every beat inside,
And my orchard is a flowing sun
Made of the autumn’s foil and mass.

And now instead of summer reckless plays,
The days will sternly march and pass.
Now only the sun will brave the clouds
And try to beam here and there as before.

And thus more insistent grows the Fall
Step by step, the more each day is cut.
So I hear, as leaves shrivel, but one sigh:
“What is after … what does the Fall hide?
What is that dawning behind?”

Вот и осень...

Мозговой Алексей Борисович
Вот и осень пришла, как обычно...
С пожелтевшей, уставшей листвою.
С моросящим дождём, безразличным,
Умывающим крыши собою.

В окна дождь монотонно стучится,
Словно просится осень в дома...
Сад промокший листвой золотится,
Красит золотом осень сама.

Вместо летней игры бесшабашной,
Дни размеренно, тихо пойдут...
Только солнце как прежде, отважно...
Промелькнёт между туч, там и тут.

С каждым днём всё настойчивей осень,
день короче а ночь всё длинней.
Шорох листьев вопрос в себе носит:
- Что за осенью, что там... за ней...?
Что за осенью, что там за ней....




Posted by Vladimír Suchan at 7:33 PM

http://vladimirsuchan.blogspot.com/2...ovys-poem.html
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Re: Poems of Alexi Mozgovoy (Brain) - Translated by Valdimir Suchan

Post by blindpig » Mon Feb 17, 2020 3:34 pm

My translation of Aleksey Mozgovoy's poem No. 13 (Symbolic)




Please come in, my friend-collector,

You were expected for some time.

I know, I know, my dear comrade,

That full of troubles is your load.




My valued pal, please do tell me

How much already is there in the bag.

I have boots I dusted off a coffin,

But this used-up pair isn’t even first.




I’ve worn my coats to holes and pieces,

And my hood is airy, sunny too.

But my eyes are hopeless, empty,

Only sadness in them rings.




So let us drink, my friend-collector,

This lonely glass is getting old,

And welcome! says a grateful host,

As there is much for us to talk!




However, my magpie uninvited,

Sadly did not say a single word.

But autumn glory lit the day

Of our uncanny surprise.




Why are you so sullen, silent,

With my life right here on your palm?

Yes, there is much that weighs it in,

And there is much of what I miss.




And there were tears, but also joy.

And right you are—a lengthy row of sins.

Many days of bloom then became cold,

And the colors disappeared under snow.




Pray you didn’t just come to visit—

For long you have had me on your list!

To the church let me just for a minute,

and of love, my love, the song will be!




Of the August evening when the sky

Stays soundless, vast and high,

But so I sing of the moonlight chill –

Getting close, it too is dear to me.




My magpie-friend, no need to rush,

We have time—to save and spare

Before the dark which you wear

While you lift your sinful souls.







***




Здравствуй, друг мой собиратель,

Ждал давно я твой приход.

Знаю, знаю мой приятель,

У тебя полно хлопот...




Расскажи мне друг мой милый,

Много-ль ты уже собрал...

Сапоги в пыли могильной,

Не одни уж истоптал.




Износил до дыр одежды,

Солнцем выжег балахон.

С глаз ушли лучи надежды,

Слышно только грусти звон.




Выпей, друг мой собиратель,

Я один устал уж пить.

Твой приход, как видишь, к стати...

Будет с кем поговорить.




Собеседник мой не званный,

Молчаливый, грустный гость.

В этот день осенний, славный,

Нам увидится, пришлось.




Что же ты молчишь угрюмо?

Ты ведь знаешь весь мой путь.

Было в жизни много шума,

Было то, что не вернуть...




Всё бывало, смех и слёзы,

Да, ты прав - я не святой.

Отцветали дни в морозы,

Покрывал их снег седой.




Ты пришёл не просто в гости,

В список я давно внесён.

Спеть позволь мне на погосте,

Обо всём, во что влюблён!




О небесной ровной глади,

Тихим летним вечерком.

О холодном лунном взгляде,

Пусть холодном, но родном.




Друг, не стоит торопится,

Мы успеем в твою глушь.

Чёрный, словно ворон-птица,
Собиратель грешных душ...


Posted by Vladimír Suchan at 3:06 PM

http://vladimirsuchan.blogspot.com/2...mozgovoys.html
"There is great chaos under heaven; the situation is excellent."

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Re: Poems of Alexi Mozgovoy (Brain) - Translated by Valdimir Suchan

Post by blindpig » Mon Feb 17, 2020 3:34 pm

My translation of Aleksey Mozgovoy's poem No. 14




The Other




Heavy in hangover my head is cast,

With sludge bland and bitter inside,

For last night was a wobbly moon.

But why is it so cold now in my bed?




I see—my face is rift and crack,

And the look! my shaky hands!

And there on the table in the room

I see photos—there someone’s eyes.




I stagger, totter like a little child,

And by the table I gasp at last.

Old snapshots there are my find,

And there is one that looks like mine.




Warily I lift that darkened print

So that I could better see …

A lost youth which had been,

My forsaken memories.




In a sudden tear my eyes then swim,

And my mind gets dizzy—white.

The one whom gazing back I see

Is someone other—different me!




His look is stern—he even grins,

Full of ember, strength and will,

For it takes some time to turn

So empty when still so young!




My hands are tense and fingers tight

And all they come and make a fist.

No, my life hasn’t been a flashy trip

With banalities to humor and excite!




Now the sun has drawn its sign,

And the night of daze will leave.

Still there’s the other in my mind

—that gaze—that deep dislike.




***


Другой




Голова на похмелье чугунная,

А внутри мутно серый кисель.

Ночь была вчера пьяная, лунная,

Но осталась холодной постель.




Паутина морщин словно борозды,

Взгляд рассеян и руки дрожат.

На столе, что стоит среди комнаты,

Фотографии чьи-то лежат.




Шаг за шагом, шатаясь и падая,

Задыхаясь, к столу подхожу.

Фотографии вижу все старые,

Среди них и свою нахожу...




Осторожно беру, пожелтевшую,

И пытаюсь увидеть на ней.

Мою юность когда-то ушедшую,

Позабытых со временем дней.




Взгляд слезой по щеке расплывается,

В голове закружил белый снег.

На меня с фотографии пялится!

Не знакомый, другой человек...




Смотрит пристально он, ухмыляется,

Полон сил и во взгляде мечта.

Ведь не скоро, не скоро появится,

В его юной душе пустота.




Дрожь в руках, пальцы сами сжимаются,

И зажат в кулаке тот, другой!

Жизнь моя, не путёвая странница,

С непривычно-обычной судьбой.




Солнце в комнату медленно тянется,

Ночь хмельная простилась со мной.

Но по прежнему в памяти пялится,

На меня, презирая... другой...







Posted by Vladimír Suchan at 8:27 PM

http://vladimirsuchan.blogspot.com/2...zgovoys_9.html
"There is great chaos under heaven; the situation is excellent."

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Re: Poems of Alexi Mozgovoy (Brain) - Translated by Valdimir Suchan

Post by blindpig » Mon Feb 17, 2020 3:35 pm

Translation of Mozgovoy's poem No. 15--Or "why they killed Mozgovoy" (of if you believe Russian oligarchs are revolutionaries in truth, secret, disguise or denial ...)
Time for a shooting practice

Wherever you spit, there’s a lord,
Some count or blood nobly refined.
With vodka glasses, titles are assigned:
“For the people and the working class!”

Medals are made and go in pounds,
And the metals plaster men with ties.
Gilded temples sit in sadness,
But new mansions want us blind.

Generals are sharp and bright
Judging by their proud outside,
And to win they strut and march
Like girls on Brazilian carnivals!

Then, in his cassock and cross, the priest
Is his Shepherd’s blameless sheep,
And without any shudder, quiver,
Turns fasting into holy filth and feast.

A democrat, a warrior for truth,
Occupies a special VIP list.
In the want of money, poverty and tears,
As our MP he sinks and suffers and begs that deep.

In the blazing Hell on Eden’s tree
Grows the fruit of fear which they eat.
High society fiefs now milk and fleece
The people as a herd on old Soviet fields.

It’s time to practice, load and shoot,
Just a bit and without spurning,
The ladies’ and gentlemen’s elite,
The army of cons, clowns and thieves.

Or we can keep on going on and on
To meetings for nickels, change, and dimes
Only to buy yet more of blabbing lies,
Having thrown rifles into the rye.


Alternative translation for the last verse:

With “heads” stuck into holes and “snouts.”


***


Пора немножко по стрелять...

Куда не плюнь, везде дворяне.
Кто граф, кто княжеских кровей.
Раздача титулов по пьяни,
Всё для народа, для людей.

Размен наград на килограммы,
Блестят в медалях пиджаки.
Тускнеет позолота храмов,
Но слепят взор особняки.

В мундирах толпы генералов,
Погоны бисером горят.
Уж на бразильских карнавалах,
Такие, точно победят!

Святой отец, с крестом и в рясе,
Безгрешный господа слуга...
Найдёт и в пост блаженной грязи,
Без страха, страшного суда.

В отдельном списке слуг народа,
Борец за правду, демократ.
Несчастный нищий, год от года
Страдает бедный депутат...

В разгар чумы, парад банкетов,
Произрастает страха плод.
Бомонд дворян в стране советов,
Где загнан в стадо весь народ!

Орда элитных скоморохов,
Господ и дам, блатная рать.
От рассуждений мало проку,
Пора немножко в них стрелять.

Но можно продолжать и дальше,
Ходить на митинги за грош.
Внимать речам вранья и фальши,
И "морды" выбирать из "рож"...

http://vladimirsuchan.blogspot.com/2....html?spref=tw
"There is great chaos under heaven; the situation is excellent."

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Re: Poems of Alexi Mozgovoy (Brain) - Translated by Valdimir Suchan

Post by blindpig » Mon Feb 17, 2020 3:36 pm

Mozgovoy's poems as a book?
I began thinking of producing a book with Mozgovoy's poems (there some 57-58 of them) in a book--in Russian original first followed by my English and Czech translations. To have this published in the Czech Republic would cost about $1,000. If you think that this is a project worth supporting, donate (see the new paypal button to the right which just appeared) or/and place a comment.

Thank you.

Vlad

http://vladimirsuchan.blogspot.com/2...s-as-book.html

(I'm having trouble getting 'donate' button to work. Could someone check that out?bp)
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Re: Poems of Alexi Mozgovoy (Brain) - Translated by Valdimir Suchan

Post by blindpig » Mon Feb 17, 2020 3:37 pm

My translation of Mozgovoy's poem No. 16 (On the Art of Love/Life)




***




That fire is of many flowers,

With which August blooms and dies,

And with each night it burns out more

In its falling short of the sky




Whose limit fields’ patches touch

And sew with bristly weeds

And blackened clouds

Into a cloth made of ragged parts.




Sadness loiters in the trees

That will divest of beauty soon,

But soggy sorrow, drizzly gloom,

Brings the Fall a gift of hope.




In her sun-filled spark and amber,

August lets white clouds sail and rise

When picking clothing in the grass.

So she will leave the garden path.




In September’s Indian summer

Embrace the Fall will start, and you

Will find her scarlet robe

Around and wide and far.




To this Fall with worn-out August

The summer gives way and yields,

and soon the queen of fun and games

will be the radiant, redheaded bride.




***




Разноцветными огнями,

Догорает август месяц.

Стал прохладнее ночами,

Опустилось небо с лестниц.




Как лоскутным одеялом,

Горизонт укрыт полями.

Под щетинистым бурьяном,

И под чёрными парами.




Грусть в деревьях притаилась,

Скоро им снимать одежды.

Моросящая унылость,

Дарит осени надежды...




Соберёт пожитки август,

Янтарём плеснёт медовым.

Облаков поднимет парус,

И уйдёт тропой садовой.




Сентябрём приходит осень,

С бабьим летом обнимаясь.

Бархат свой багряный бросит,

По округам, расстилаясь.




Лето с августом усталым,

Ей уступит своё место.

Скоро будет править балом,

Осень, рыжая невеста.








PS: Paypal button seems to be working at last. Most likely I would end up covering up costs of the books with translations of Mozgovoy's poems (in Czech and English) by myself. For donations of $40 and up I could offer a free copy (once the book is done) with or without my dedication (depending on the request).

http://vladimirsuchan.blogspot.com/2...oem-no-16.html
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Re: Poems of Alexi Mozgovoy (Brain) - Translated by Valdimir Suchan

Post by blindpig » Mon Feb 17, 2020 3:38 pm

My translation of Mozgovoy's poem No. 17: To his mother "from beyond" ... but also to all of us
To My Mother

Mother, there’s never been enough of youAs there’s not enough of the summer rainy shine.Without appeal, from me you are recedingAnd leaving me—forever behind.

That’s why now I am here aloneBuried in the steppe, its graying grass.God knows, you took offense … perhaps,That I didn’t … didn’t say goodbye.

Without the word I crave you left,And the silence on me weighs so hard.Yet what I need is to hear you, Mom,—your tender whisper one more time.

Lying here I am afraid to stir,But neither can I breathe.Even to God I can’t say a pray,From this self I can’t escape.

But why shall there any turmoil be—still any sounds from leaves or birdsWhen no longer I hear our cranberry treeAnd not even wildfire can be seen?

Mother, my dear and so much loved,How much I want to shout, but can’t!My world without you is being dimmedIn the fields under God and the open sky.

So if, my dear one, you do hear me,I ask you: “Mom, forgive me, but don’tForget …” such is the pray of my grassThat you come back … at least as a dream.



МАМА

Мне тебя не хватает, мама... Как пылающим летом дождя. Но уходишь ты дальше упрямо, Навсегда оставляя меня.

И теперь я один среди поля, Утопаю в ковыли седой. На меня ты обиделась, что ли... Попрощаться забыла со мной.

Ты ушла не промолвив ни слова, И сжимает виски тишина. Хоть разочек, услышать бы снова, Голос мамы, что так мне нужна.

Я стою, и боюсь шевелиться, Полной грудью дышать не могу. Не умею я Богу молиться, От себя ни куда не сбегу.

А вокруг суета без причины, Шёпот листьев и пение птиц. Но не слышу я больше калины, И не вижу я вспышки зарниц.

Моя милая, милая мама, Закричать бы, но голоса нет! Среди поля небесного храма, Без тебя угасает мой свет.

Если ты меня слышишь, родная, Я прошу тебя мама... прости... И ковыль тебя просит седая, Ты хотя бы во сне, приходи...

http://vladimirsuchan.blogspot.com/2...oem-no-17.html
"There is great chaos under heaven; the situation is excellent."

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