Prelude: Apologies
To my English speaking readers: this post could not be written in the English language.
To my Russian speaking readers: this post could not be written in the Russian font.
....
Sevodnya ya stoyu vozle okna. Eto okno novoye. Eto okno viglydivaet na dvor. Vnizu pesochnitsi. Tuda viglyadivayut okna okruzhayushih domov. Sevodnya Subotta, i vo dvore igrayut deti. Skoro nastupet vremya obeda, i mami viglyanuv v okna pozovut detei krikom na obed.
No moye okno pustoye. Vozle nevo rostet kashtan. Vchera bil dozhd i smil beliye lepestki. Teper ostalis odni listya. Pochasto duyet veter, i oni zaglyadivayut ko mne v okno. Oni sprashivayut esli vse normalno. Vse tak i normalno.
V naushnikah zvuchit Vizbor. V naushnikah, Vizbor poyet o proshlom. O proshlom katorovo bolshe net.
No v moye okno eto proshlo zaglyadivayet teper kazhdii den. To zhe proshloye kotoroye ya sto let nazad pohoronil. No v etom dvore ono vstalo iz zemli. Ono roskrilo krilya, smilo listya s derevyev i podnyalos ko mne. A shto mne? Ya evo uzhe ne pomnyu.
No vihodyav na ulitsu ya ne mogu evo ne vspomnit. Ono pokrivayet menya do golovi, ya tonyu v nem. Ya plivu ot nevo, no po vsem ulitsam navodneniye. V aleye parka, stoit krasnii tramvai. Roditili gulyayut s detmi. Patcani butsuyut futbol vokrug polyani. I ya bolshe ne znayu – idu ya cherez park is proshlovo, ili po nasoyashemu zdes.
A voobshe, shto takoye “zdes”? Ved kogda vsplivayet starii mir, kogdato poharonii navsegda, to togda novii mir pokrit starim – noviye ulitsi zamiti vodoi do krish, i mi vse plivem, yeli yeli pitayemsya ne zadohnutsya v nostolgiye.
"Да, вот это наше поколениe," poyet Vizbor, "Рудиментом в нынешних мирах..."
Mozhet zhe eto bit nashem pokoleniyem? V takom ne lovkom meste, kak budto na tonuvshem ostrave mezhdu proshlom i budushem? Kak pel Vizbor, mozhet kak raz "Вот наша Эльба"?
Otvetov u menya net. Da i sil plit u menya poroi chuvstvuyetsya ostalos ne tak mnogo. Zemli po storonam ne ostalos. Iz morya vidno - kazhdii nashel svoi ostrov, "каждый выбрал веру и житьё,".
Edinstvenii vopros - a gde moye?
"Вот это жаль, вот это, правда, очень жаль..."
Obeshat budusheh posts ya ne mogu. Poka, budu prosto pitatsya viplit na bereg. Kak ni bud, do plivu. Vi uvidete ot menya signal.
"Отставить крики, тихо, Сретенка, не плачь,
Мы стали все твоею общею судьбой -
Те, кто был втянут в этот несерьезный матч
И кто повязан стал верёвкой бельевой."
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3 comments:
First and foremost I will go and listen to the song. AH! you know? no need!
You don't need to look for your own island. the point is and like the song goes is that mi stali VSE tvoeyu obsheyu sudboi. Stretenka is vizbor's island and we probably have our own that we simply don't see yet. On tozhe ne zamechal kogda ih vyazala verevka bleyevaya - on dazhe i ne dumal ob etom a prosto igral v igru. Tak vot i nam nado prosto prodolzhat igrat v etot voleibol zhizni a verevka uzhe naidetsa (a mozhet dazhe kolya zyat (izvestniy vor) setku otkudo-ta spizdit).
Tak vot, perestan iskat svoi sobstvenniy blin ostrov - just take it as a fact that in the end you'll have one - with all of us. (just don't forget the modern verevka - ur ethernet pull!)
Need an island?
Come to Long Island!!!
muagagagaaga
good post - but Ms Kunik would say:
"Sweethaaart - stolko gramaticheskih oshibok, nu shto ya mogu tebe dat. Sixty five!
at which point from the kid who just finished a regents:
"SIXTY FIVE!!!"
haha, spasibo.
no, ya kak raz ob etom i pitalsya pisat - o tom kak mi vse stali povyazani verevkoi. Da eto obshaya sudba - no, chto luchshe, bit svyazan vmeste so vsemi obshei tragicheskoi sudboi, ili iskat svoyu sobstvenuyu, hot' mozhet bit ne meniye tragichiskuyu.
everything is in the process these days, isnt it?
anyway, spasibo za otvetik.. ya znayu ya naverno udaril nerv svoyei sentimentalnostyu, no prosto ne mog po drugomu, uzh ochen vzyalo togda :)
Hey I enjoyed reading this post it's one of my favorite I didn't know you can write in russian just as well!
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