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Pavel Nichkov Poem
Why does the wind spin in the hollows
and makes the leaves and powder fly,
whereas the ships lie in calm waters,
a breeze is their best desire?
Why from dark rocks, past a white tower
an eagle soars, with ease and power
to a dead tree? Ask better him.
Why Desdemona, on a whim,
loves her Othello, her black moor,
like a new moon loves gloom of night?
Because the wind and eagle's flight
and heard of maiden take no rule.
So poet, rhyming, building forms
accepts no rules, no laws, no terms.
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This is a translation from Russian
of an excerpt
from the A.S.Pushkin's poem Ezersky.
Translated by Pavel Nichkov
2012-08-28
Copyright © Pavel Nichkov | Year Posted 2012
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Pavel Nichkov Poem
Age ain't nothing but a number.
Aerial ruby-red
Lithe liana and
Impulsive night-black jaguar,
Young, playful, wild,
Amusing in chime...
Hues of metal and blood flood.
Axes make crosses.
Aluminium nonchalant moon
Licking leaves of the purple willows.
I discern a vague amber face
Yelling through winds, smokes and ashes.
Anchors and chains, arms and boats and oars -
Heavy sands hide them all.
Ancient abyss opens wide.
Absolutes of January ask for immediate answers.
Lines of the black flaming eyes -
I still seek for the signs of dead love through the
Years of Siberian snows.
Apples of January -
Heavy are they, hold them tight, hold them high.
Age ain't nothing but a number.
Arial ruby-red
Lithe liana and
Impulsive night-black jaguar,
Young and playful and wild.
Are you artless enough in the art of ascending to love?
Here comes hush after rush.
Aaliyah
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Aaliyah Dana Haughton - the Princess of R&B
(January 16, 1979 - August 25, 2001)
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Revised on Jan 10, 2013
Initial version written on Jan 11, 2010
Copyright © Pavel Nichkov | Year Posted 2013
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Details |
Pavel Nichkov Poem
The pricking needles of cold stars and hoarfrost
hypnotizingly sparkling in the dense crispy air,
a half-sky pearl hallo crowns the dead mercury-liquid Moon;
violent blizzards have been finally superseded by severe frost.
Grasses are peacefully sleeping under the snow whiteness.
Fords, Mercedeses, BMWs, Nissans are moving slowly
groping their way through thick clouds of exhaust mist;
rare chilly passers-by hurrying
towards a hopefully better for existence place.
Here, in the rare air of winter, through the mist
and frost of weariness and apathy,
through the concrete substance of the night wind,
a brightly lit advertising poster screams right into eyes
and minds:"WE WILL WIN! United Russia", and the never
hibernating on his three-color way grizzly-bear
looks as ever strong, resolute and satisfied.
There is no bum soaker, no thief, no whore
under the dead-festive-rosy light of the street lamps.
No single crow or dog or jackdaw in the dead space
of eternal frost. All they have gone.
In winter, conscience seems to be a too abstract matter.
The colored scraps are much more essential.
Nov 25, 2011
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a constructive critique is welcome
Copyright © Pavel Nichkov | Year Posted 2011
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