Speaking In Tongues

Scribbling In Voices



Translated by Dmitry Kovalenin

Wolves and Ravens

A Swallow

25 to 10


Is it God Himself, or is it just the night smelling of incense

All around us there's a forest, dark, mossy and cold

Wonder if we are blessed, or ambushed, or the double sense

Tickling to the touch, but a draught to the soul

Here they come carrying icons, but the face on them's unknown

Lamps from under dark waters light their pasture so far

Can't recall how we stood up, how we left the room all alone

All I knew was that we'd go out for that All-Warming Star

Here the temple stands high, pitch-dark under the cupola

Not a damn thing we saw, though we looked our eyes blind;

I would light up a candle, had not they sold each candle out

I'd burn some spirit in my palm, was it not so hard to find

And all around us there's snow, snow no matter which way you choose

"It's fun barefoot on snow if as clean your souls are"...

So we'd've perished down to Hell, if not for the ravens and wolves

They came and said, "Where do you run? Must it be All-Warming Star?"

They gilded crosses, stuck them into every hole around

But they exchanged for wine their only Given One

Then, hung over on the morrow, came for water but only found

In place of the river, the Mongol Shuudan

So we would love to send the angels any greeting, any sign from us -

But as we covered our tracks, we had lost where they are -

So everyone would only get what he deserves for his guilty past

If it wasn't for the shining of that pure Star

So what to do, what else to sing for, if not for the empty hand?

We'll get burnt in this void, if we ever don't sing

And if my songs fail unsung, then the hawks will return again

Across the troubled waters, their eyes unseen

Well, if so, let'em try - I'm a bird from the darkest woods,

See, I've got nowhere to run, ice-bound so far

So let me cover you, and you cover me, all my ravens and wolves

So that one day one of us might reach that pure Star

So what to cry for, even if it's pitch-dark under the cupola?

What is here to die of, even with our eyes blind?

And what's so fatal, even if they have sold every candle out?

Y'bet the place lacks a fire that we know how to find

And maybe it's true, "There is no way but a thorny path,

No other hands for a Miracle but the ones' who clean are"

But it's only wolves and ravens who'd been really warm to us

And who'd blessed us on our long way to that pure Star


Hop, little swallow, hop

On the yard's sand

Hop, little swallow, hop

Into my hand

The Sun is high,

Which means time is fine -

Hop, little swallow, hop

Peace comes to an end

Hop, little swallow, hop

Back home on tiptoes

Hop, little swallow, hop

An axe in your claws

Outside it's bright

But inside there's no light -

Doesn't it mean that your house

Is full of foes?

Life wounds like a stone -

Ripples in the air

Hop, little swallow, hop

Foes everywhere

Let daring hawks

Fight the evil in flocks -

And you, my swallow, sing on

Don't poke into there

Sing, little swallow, sing

And we'll play a drum

Hawks all over the sky

They go and they come

A hawk over earth

A wench giving birth

It's all as it used to be

Everything's calm

25 TO 10

I'm an engineer for one hundred a month

I would love to get more but I won't

And for these ten years out of my twenty-five

I'm not sure I know what I want

And there hardly is any reason for me

To be proud of my own lot

But if I could choose myself once again

Sure I'd choose the myself I've got

I'm twenty-five, and ten years out of that

I've been singing I don't know what

He's been standing behind my left shoulder, and yet

I'm not scared of Him a lot

Let my words sound so unclear to you -

Don't you blame me for that anyway

In the eyes of the One behind the left shoulder

We're all equal in the end of the day

God knows, maybe tomorrow the hands of the clock

Will start turning back unrestrained

And the One bemoaned and released from the Cross

Will be crucified again

And the tender lips will start trying hard

To seek their Christ unseen

But me, I sang what I sang, so at least

For that part my conscience is clean

And I cherish whatever has happened to me

Even what went wrong as I guess

Let my head contain such a feather-brain

And my temple be real mess

I have just been trying to tend my garden

Not spoiling the lovely view

So forgive me, Careless Fisherman

And you, Chief of Frontier, get the clue