L.Kostenko, And It's Not Me... - Translation (Rus.) Poem by Lyudmila Purgina

Lina Kostenko


With the help of the translation from ukranian into russian
by Nikolai Sysoilov

And it's not me, you also - not you.
The gardens squeak as the tendons torn,
Night plays on a violin of solitude.
And wolf howls on the strings of woe.

The hungry beast takes grief as from the knife,
And lightly rings the worlds' all frozen jugs.
The wolf howls long. The alien street laughs
With her black teeth, sweeping aside.

And wolf howls on - the soloist of my nights...
The fangs of icicles gnash awfully in cold.
The wolf creeps, pulling the frozen tail,
The Pisces constellation' sprat he preys  on.

Sit down, wolfy. Lay down on threshold.
Narrate me all about your adventures.
Take off karakul. Why's that camouflage for?
Let's howl then. But mute would be my wail.

Let's get a warmth, my gloomy horror,
Though we are thrown from a tale by age,
Till dawn in a black domino would play shocking
Me with a fire in the windows' frames.

Till sun would burn the salvage, lines,
And roofs hide darkness in their fair tears...
Here lies the ovine skin of blizzards,
The reasonable dog blathers at riffle...