Взмах. Шумит молчаньем важным зал И перешептываньем пар,...

Swipe.


Noisy silence important hall

And whispering steam

And yellow shine on the chairs

Light reflected from the ceiling

And in clean bright mirrors

Reflections of the eyes flicker.

The ninth hour. Call now

As the gospel of a good voice,

Will announce itself for the third time.

Second.

....... Two.

.............. Spotlight

With the movement of a light, they stop talking.

...................................Shine

................................... It went out.

At one point, the noise went out.

Running down the seconds

To the scene, quickly, tangled in steps.

....................................Step.

A bottomless echo. Swings

Bows from the shoulder. Swipe again!

And again silence is silence.

.................................... Goes out.

And only somewhere copper

trumpet voices and breathes

sonorous light echo audible

even on the street somewhere. Moment

one whole shaft of winds.

And the strings, softly, with a blanket

Discover something dark

In front of. Silent.

.................................. Hush

Run down the steps of a niche

chords and their modulations, and quieter

A hand rises into the air.

................................. Silent.

As if a cloud hung in a sound.

Like a rumble of a horn in a fog

Solemnly loud, noisy

She raised her bell proudly.

Violas rustle melancholy, sadly.

It’s completely autumn empty, shrill

The violins moan. And hastily

In response to them restless clarinets

Raise a voice an octave.

And the timpani beats the bell.

And affectionately cello

Something in a whisper. Soft trill

The babbling flies flutes.

And a frantic howl of an airless blizzard

All the same, all crying, autumn violins.

Everyone aches and asks as if somewhere

One long note. Vityevata

The arcs rise above the niche.

And the last sigh, sad, howled.


More clearly waved hands

Under the alarm bell fire.

Another circle. Another sound. Another wave.

.....................................Silence.

So full and hopelessly quiet

How can it be only after music

Or a verse.


. 3/3/11


Fairy tale.


There was a little boy on planet Earth.

In a small town called Nalchik.

In the mornings, he went to the well for water,

In the winter mornings, he fought against the elements.

He came home tired, cold,

Our boy Gavrosh lay on the stove.

And he read books until the deep night,

To join the battle with the brutal elements.

And so was December, and so was January,

The books ran out, grief sank.

And so, in order to create a friend for himself,

He decided to open the barn door.

Paper, wire, imagination:

There is no better set for a friend's birth.

And so, lying in the evening, in the house, on the stove,

The aluminum boy created the little man.

Thinking of a name, twirling a finger at his forehead,

And the little man called the Boy a boy.

The Boy was talented, no worse than his father.

The boy wondered: he created a well done man.

There was something to talk about with him,

While going to the well for water.

And eat and drink, and sleep, and wake up,

And read a book, and get dressed, put on shoes:

We did everything together! And it was joyful

Until the boy made him a piano.

As he did not know how, he taught his son everything.

The aluminum boy has grown to the musical:

He beat the keys day and night,

Until he left headlong into the music world,

And his father listened to him and was silently silent.

He invited all his friends from school,

To be able to hear aluminum minors.

But everyone was still deaf

Laughing at Gavrosh, cursing aluminum.

And the boy wrapped his son with tape only

How a limb broke with a genius at night.

And so he restored the integrity of the lines,

Until aluminum covered the tape.

The little man lost his red suit

And he looked at himself sadly every evening.

In the afternoon he played, and in the evening cried,

And the boy comforted him with a gift:

It will give a violin, then a double bass,

That is a brand new aluminum sax.

And the little man played the piano

On the violin, harmonica, and trumpet.

And from evening to evening everything was better

While he could play not only himself.


But years have passed. The boy became a man.

He left for Moscow from the city of Nalchik,

Leaving childhood on the street with a well,

Gingerbread house, blue swamp.

Aluminum wept: its viewer left,

The only listener, friend and parent.

I couldn’t help myself.

Stronger in the winter I just wrapped myself in scotch tape ....


Now every passer-by on the street past

He hears something playing to himself

Man aluminum on the piano,

On the violin, harmonica and trumpet ...


. The warm winter of 2007 ...