Best Russian Poems
The west went in guns blazing to help their fellow man
In Syria against the Islamic State and in Iraq and Afghanistan
They brought an end to a campaign of terror and a killing spree
And made the world a better place and safe for everybody.
So why in God's name is the civilised world, just standing by?
While thousands of innocent men, women and children die
What is it about Russia, that murdering terrorist state?
Are we just going to look away, leaving them to their fate?
Ukraine is running out of fresh water, they have no electricity
While the Russians carry on firing missiles, indiscriminately
And committing atrocities that would make a grown man cry
A harsh winter is fast approaching and many people will die.
Why are NATO and the civilised west worried about escalation?
While Russia carries on pulverising that peace loving nation
Enough is enough, NATO needs to put boots on the ground
And rain down hellfire on that Russian scum, round after round.
The west is sending arms and humanitarian aid to Ukraine
But dragged their feet when they requested a fighter plane
Vladimar Putin growls like a dog and the west backs away
We shouldn't listen to his rantings, he must be made to pay.
Ukraine got rid of all nuclear weapons with the fall of the iron curtain
I bet they wished that they hadn't given them up of that I am certain
Because the yellow backed Russian scum would never have invaded
And their threat to world peace would never have escalated.
Written 24th November 2022
Playing
Russian roulette
With fate
Fateful
The hand that tempts
And flirts
Flirting
With the shadows
Of death
Deathly
Silence that lurks
And creeps
Creeping
Through cobwebbed paths
Of doubt
Doubtful
Uncertainty
Sets in
Inner
Feelings torment
And gnaw
Gnawing
At self belief
Bleeding
Blood flows
Slowly in drips
It ends
Ending
Russian roulette
With fate
--------------------------------
Contest: Mussetle Train
Sponsor: Richard Lamoureux
Placed: 1st
The odor of turnips,
of seasoned cabbage water - borscht
flushed through musing kidneys.
Listening to Zhukovsky, Vysotsky, Tyutchev,
not comprehending a word of it.
Working my way backward
through an alphabet that echoes
proto-Slavic roots and chugs.
Muses that are a gloved slap of love,
an aching tooth,
a fondness for black-ice
words that gnaw wet socks and fingertips.
Suspicions wriggle like long dead Popes –
the smell of tobacco and damp sheets.
A dusting of earth shaken from chilled rhizomes.
Words simmer like sleeping Cossacks.
Whiffs of green water, grain, and potato,
the anguish of bruised beets.
A poetry that peels onion,
a crop used
in the pickling of cucumbers,
and other forever preserved romances.
You don't love me, you don't have compassion,
Maybe I am handsome not enough,
You don't look in face with wild passion
putting arms on shoulders without love.
I'm not rude or gentle with you, dear,
You're so young and you've got sensual grin,
Tell, how many kissers you had here?
How many hands and lips have known your sin?
Yes, I know their shades passed-by your being
And they didn't touch your wanted blaze,
You set down on their knees, I'm meaning,
Now you're on my knees, we're face to face.
Let your eyes are almost closed, and maybe
Now you think about somebody else,
Ah, I love you not so much, oh, baby,
Drowning in my former and sweet tales.
Do not call the Fate our tiresome fever,
Our passion frivolous and fast,
I have met you accidentally, dreamer,
I will smile in parting, all is dust.
Yes, you'll go your own way, and wasting
fire through the mournful days of fall,
Do not touch the innocent, you're tasty,
Do not call unburned, oh, do not call.
And when on the lane with someone other
you will go with talking about love,
Maybe I will walk myself and rather
I will meet you and it won't be rough.
You will turn your shoulders to him quietly,
Oh, and with a little bending down,
You will say good evening very lightly,
I will say good night, miss, with a bow.
Rest of soul won't be disturbed whenever,
Nothing takes us with the violent pain,
Who had love just cannot love forever,
Who had burnt just cannot burn again.
1925
P.S. This is my translation of poem by Sergey Yesenin
In desert that is poor and dull
On soil that is scorched with fire
The Upas-tree stands as a hull
as guard who's one who knows no tire.
The prairie's nature had a thirst
begetting Him in day of fury,
It filled dead green of branches first,
It poisoned roots these give no curing.
The poison flows through pale bark,
Noon smelts with heat His poisoned dripping,
The Eve congeals Him like a mark
as limpid pitch on trunk - He's sleeping.
There are no birds to fly to Him,
No tiger walks to tree, just swirl
embraces tree of death with scream
and runs away with toxic evil.
And if the cloud will irrigate
His ancient leaves and pause its motion,
Its fallen rain flows down as fate
along the branches like deadly potion.
But crafty man had sent a man
to Upas-tree with glance of power
And man had walked according a plan,
He brought the bane in morning hour.
He brought the bane - the deadly pitch
And branch with faded leaves of Oro
And sweat ran down the brow and bleached
it with cold streams in silent sorrow.
He brought. He's weak, he has laid down
under the arch of the tent on flooring,
The slave has died in feet of crown
that knows no loss that knows no longing.
The Lord fed arrows with this bane,
They are obedient to his power,
He sends the death, he sends the pain
to neighbors in decisive hour.
P.S. This is my translation of poem by Alexander Pushkin
Come on kiss me, kiss me, hear,
Let I'm hurt, let I am bleeding,
Cold's inside, it isn't greeting
boiling heart and falling tear.
Mug is overturned in revel,
But their fun is not for us,
Understand, my friend, oh, devil,
We are living only once.
Turn around and look with sadness
in this humid mist that's cursed,
Yellow raven flies in darkness -
Half of moon's above the earth.
Come on kiss me! Yes, I burn,
For my ears - decay is singing;
And some one put on his mourn
in the sky - it smells my leaving.
Fading strength and fading power,
if I have to die I'll die
kissing lips for my last hour -
Sweetheart's lips these all are mine.
And I want my deep blue dreaming
without shame and without curse,
Let bird-cherry rustles singing
to my ears: I'm only yours.
Let the light with foam and revel
over mug will never pass,
Drink and sing, my friend, oh, devil,
We are living only once.
P.S. This is my translation of poem by Sergei Yesenin
I am pure Russian and I am the bear
I have deep dark eyes and black , black hair
Russian girls are very pretty and very exciting bare
Straight and tall with features very fair
They are smart and have lots of brains
And apply themselves to learning even if it rains
English is one of our favorite subjects
And it is very hard to explain
Why we want to learn a second language that sometimes is lame
Which at the end of our most severe weather we can barely retain
It is winter now and my English is kind of sad
So I sit and study all night long ,
but after all its only a fad
For when summer comes I will be long, long gone
I try and try but it is so hard,
I can not seem to learn contractions
And sometimes I feel like I a retard,
So I make a list of all my retractions
Grammar is always difficult and I am always correcting my mistakes
But I love hearing English with all its corny cliques ,
and lots of people saying ,for goodness sakes
Thank goodness for this silly poem
Thank goodness this is the end
Thank goodness I will have no more use for this pen
Wait for me and I’ll be back
Only wait for me,
When your sadness turns in black,
Yellow rains are free.
When the snows fall down like fate,
When there is a heat,
When the others cannot wait,
Don’t remember a bit.
Wait when from the far-far place
Letters cannot come,
Wait when they’ve got tired face
thinking all is gone.
Wait for me and I’ll be back,
Don’t be kind with those
Who in heart is turning black,
Who forgot and lost.
Let believe my son and mom
I am here no more.
Friends will say that I am gone
near fire in woe,
They will drink their bitter wine
to remember the soul,
wait. With them at the same time
Do not drink in mourn.
Wait for me and I’ll be back
in spite of any woes,
Who couldn’t wait and find my track
will say: lucky you both.
They will never understand,
When the fire got free
You have saved with faithful hand
waiting so for me.
How did I survive – we’re two
known. And no one tells
You could wait for me, just you,
Like nobody else.
P.S. This is my translation of poem of Konstantin Simonov. He was war journalist during World War II
You shine like the stars in the sky,
You are the sparkle of my eye,
Like the rays of the sun,
You give life with your touch,
And with a slight brush of your cheek,
You make me weep,
I weep for your presence,
At the base of a lone dark tree.
I slump,
But when I see you get close,
I give it all my strength,
To be perfect for you is all I seek.
Krasivaya,
I have waited for you my entire life,
and now I will never want to leave your side,
Nourish me with your loving touch,
And I will shower you with the sweet scent of my nectar veins,
With your care krasivaya,
Your red rose will never die.
There're frost and sun, the day is fairy,
You're sleeping yet, sweetheart, you're merry,
It's time, wake up, my pretty lass,
Open your eyes that are so tender
towards Aurora and her splendour
Rise like the Northern star to bless.
The eve, remember, evil blizzard,
Sky's full of mist, sky was imprisoned,
the moon was just like yellow stain,
It shone through clouds that were so gloomy,
You were so sad, your room is roomy,
But now, look in the window, hey...
Under the blue-blue skies of glory,
under the sun without some hurry
the snow that like great carpet lies,
Transparent forest blackened truly,
The hoarfrost covers spruces coolly
And river's shining through the ice.
I see the room is full of amber,
Room's bright and stove sings with great temper
of burning firewood.
It's good to think near bed, but maybe
order to harness horse, my lady,
to slide, it would be good.
We're sliding on the snow of morning,
My sweetheart, let horse runs to dawning,
There is no time to wait.
Let's visit empty field, let's visit
thick forests, oh, I really miss it,
And shore that's sweet for our date.
P.S. This is my translation of poem by Alexander Pushkin
Sacred and pristine Russian mountain;
here I am to ponder on your beauty;
From photographing you I cannot abstain!
Sacred and pristine Russian mountain.
Dear Russian mountain: 5861 miles plus
19 hours it took me to reach your home,
surrounded by nature. I am not a wuss!
Sacred and pristine Russian mountain.
Russian mountain, -30 F
don't deter me from being here. I don't
care if I frezee. This is sheer delight!
Sacred and pristine Russian mountain.
Russian mountain, make heart glad and gay!
If you were able to speak today
I wouldn't understand a iota of what you say!
Sacred and pristine Russian mountain.
Russian mountain sacred and pristine.
Mountaineers and explorers from abroad
come to visit you because you are alpine!
Sacred and pristine Russian mountain.
Russian mountain pristine and sacred.
We won't find you in an amusement park;
because you're only here, blue and red.
Sacred and pristine Russian mountain.
There's no one like you in Spokane!
Sacred and pristine Russian mountain.
Gold leaf is burning very bright
on Christmas trees and bush is hiding
toy wolves, they're looking through the night
with eerily eyes, their look is biting.
Oh, my prophetic tiresome grief,
oh, quite freedom of my ego
and empty sky that cannot live
with laughing crystal in vertigo.
P.S. This is my translation of poem by Osip Mandelstam
say no
say no to war
how pity it is
to see young innocent children
innocent of the evils of this world
crying for their dead mothers and fathers
with no promise to the future
for religious and political
falsehood causing disaster
the poor always has to fight
in other to see the sunlight
but the optimum principle
is to do right
for life has turn to war
no that guns are sore
and words are pure
for that am sure
but who cares
love they abhor
materialism they adore
prevention they say
is better than cure
so say no
say no to war
like told before
a godly tree provides a good shelter
and it fruits satisfies hunger
why not live in peace and harmony
so that we all will be
free and happy
I oiled the card of daily being
splashing the paint from glass; I pointed
slanting cheekbones of ocean streaming
on plate of jelly, I was joyed
to read the calls of some new lips
on tin fish scales; oh, it is cute,
But could you play Nocturne on ribs
of very noisy drainpipe flute?
P.S. My translation of poem by Vladimir Mayakovsky
1.
I go out alone on road I'm stranger;
Through the fog siliceous way shines bright;
It is quiet. Waste hears the God, He's stager,
And the star speaks with the star at night.
2.
Skies are filled with triumph, they've got wonder,
Say, land sleeps in shining of the blue,
Why it's hard, it's hurt, was it my blunder?
Am I sorry? Do I need some new?
3.
I don't wait for anything from living
I'm not sorry, everything's in past,
I want to forget myself in dreaming
I am looking freedom and the rest.
4.
I would like to sleep and dream forever,
But not with the cold of silent grave...
Let life slumbers in my chest together
with my breath and let it heaves as wave.
5.
Let sweet voice sings about love and mothers
ears of mine all day and all dark night,
Let oak bows and greens and little bothers
It's so big so ancient and so kind.
P.S. This is my favourite poem of Mikhail Lermontov in my translation.