Speaking In Tongues
Guided by Voices


by Andrey Kneller

To Vladimir Vysotsky

The blaring gusts no longer come to soothe,
The wind and I no longer share one course!
The law of motion says that one can't move,
Unless he's acted on by certain force.

The winds blow by my ship with no effect --
They only pass right through the ripped up sail.
From boredom, I relive, in retrospect,
The days when I would ride upon the gale, --

The days when rats were jumping overboard,
When lighting struck, so viciously and surly,
When out of might and strength, I often thought,
«It's still too early, it's still too early!»

I spin the rudder in despair, both night and day,
But the predestined plot's proceeding
And motionless, my ship will only sway
Upon the waves, -- forthcoming and receding.

I've lost my track on this deceiving trek.
I'm out of breath, the blurry mist I swallow!
The rain won't cease; it pounds on the deck, --
Not everything that's from above is hallow.

But I refuse to scream out, «S-O-S!»
I will not leave my ship upon a stretcher
My lucky stars continue to suggest, --
«Εψε νε βεχεπ, εψε νε βεχεπ...»

To Boris Pasternak

The morning stared into his face
So weak and jaded
The candle faded into haze
The candle faded

Upon his hands, dark stains of ink
Transformed in color
And blooming early, far from spring
The nature hollered

Outside the window, in embrace
The winds debated
The candle faded into haze
The candle faded

The molten wax froze on his shirt
Remaining warm
And all was tranquil and inert
And all was calm

Behind the desk, in common stance
So full of wonder
His head lied rested on his hands
His soul in slumber

Where tangled in a single gaze
Two fates were braided
The candle faded into haze
The candle faded

And silence crept into the room
Quick and eternal
Dim shades and shadows of his doom
Fell on his journal

The sun was rising in its place
As if inflated
The candle faded into haze
The candle faded