Ella Odeyash

Discussion in 'Creative Corner' started by ibshambat, May 25, 2019.

  1. ibshambat

    ibshambat Well-Known Member

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    Like liquid glass, waters of sea,
    Made of the tinted-bottle color,
    Was pouring softly, heavily -
    The appelation of this: summer.

    And ships, appearing like white dots,
    Forming the distance with their presence.
    They went somewhere to end of earth -
    The appelation of this: heaven.

    *****

    Like in childhood, I am walking barefot
    With my feet feeling the trail.
    For long time I did not walk like this.
    For long time I was not this way.

    Balmy breeze in my face is blowing.
    I forgot how old I've become
    And perhaps it's the joy of living
    Wafting at me from the ground.

    It's the day, it's the path, it's the summer...
    Every blade of grass, dear to me...
    And my bare-footed childhood
    Smiling, is looking at me.

    *****

    From the bluish distance blown,
    Wind, arrives on a spring day.
    Arms and elbows smell of orange,
    Air is full of jasmin smell.

    Not agreeing with my years
    My soul sings and sings and sings:
    And the leaves' rustle makes clear
    Something tender's whisperings.

    *****

    I live in condition
    Of mood schizophrenia:
    As if there's no distance
    Between Russia and Israel.

    I live in two mentalities
    In two different spaces and times.
    In two "hard" realities,
    In noise of different tribes.

    In news political
    (From darkness where I can't see)
    About both Russia and Israel
    I say the word "We."

    And I watch TV programs
    Like fog that is full of blood:
    All is woeful and horrible
    Both here and there it's bad

    Like in a monster fairy tale,
    Like in a tale of horror -
    The Arabian terrorism
    And the Chechnya war

    And I live in condition
    Of split apart soul -
    As if there is no distance
    Between the two countries I know.

    *****

    Again - a cricket, or else maybe a cicada
    Again - the moon and palms above my head...
    And in my dream, blockade of Leningrad, and
    The icy chill is blowing from the street.

    Though life has not been smooth in any manner,
    And flow of time has changed so much, I know,
    WIthin my soul - I'm still a Leningrader,
    And... cricket seems just like the Metronome.

    By Ella Odeyash
    Translated from Russian by Ilya Shambat
     

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