Слободкина Ольга
At 8 o'clock

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  • © Copyright Слободкина Ольга (olga_slobodkina@mail.ru)
  • Размещен: 16/12/2020, изменен: 15/02/2023. 6k. Статистика.
  • Стихотворение: Поэзия
  • Иллюстрации/приложения: 17 шт.

  • At 8 o'clock
      the cemetery is locked.
    I'm passing round and by
      this future place of mine.
    There lie 
       those who I loved,
         those who have died...
    Why should we die?
     God knows. I don't know why.
    I'm still alive,
     So - to the park.
    I wonder if there's anyone 
       who is really mine.
    At the beginning of life  
     I loved my father,
      but he died.
    Loved my grandparents,
      but they have all 
          died too.
    What do we do?
    Why do we come here so hopeful and so good?
     To put on later an alienation hood?
    Why can't we understand
     and yet be all together till the end?
    However, there can be a friend.
     The only one who's meant for you,
      with who
        you can take off the alienation hood.
    But don't throw it away.
      There is always an option to say "nay".
    And only the Angels are with you all right -
       day and night,
         day and night.
    Your Guardian Angel is directing you,
      telling you all you have to know, to do...
       and that... you're one of the few.
    Enough for contemplation!
      To the park!
    Remember her telling him in the film
      "Under the sheltering skies":
    "Champagne - yes.
       Philosophy - no".
    But I don't drink champagne.
      Or any other alcohol.
    I'm a total obstainer - nothing doing.
    So for me
      philosophy - yes.
       Champagne - no, thanks.
      Once  at a birthday party
    I drank too much red wine...
      And the next day
    I felt my head got stuffed up to my ears with clay.
      Then I decided not to crash this head of mine -
    but rather write blank verse and also verse of rhyme.
    Now - to the park.
    As usual - no idea, which way to go
     And Who directs me all these ways along.
    Well... instead of going straight,
       which was my way,
    but seemed a longer ray,
      I'm turning right,
    which may be just a plight.
    At least I know
      why all these plastic installations
       've been set up -
    they are New Year and X-mas decorations
        in the park.
    I'm getting cold while sitting on a bench,
      soon I stand up, warm countries loving wench.
    And go just on and on.
    I'm being followed by
      a passer-by,
    again I'm stepping to the right
       and see a skiing line.
    Wow, people're skiing even here.
      That is not half a bad idea.
    Maybe I should ski too?
      I've got no skis, however,
    neither a skiing suite.
      I've never had whole package. No!
    When I was 25
      and nearly lost my life...
    I also lost my mountain skiing boots
       and other most important goods.
      Thanks God, that period didn't last.
    It's over, done with, in the past!
    In French, which I'm learning now,
      "ne pas" is a negation,
    par exemple: Je n'aime pas.
      In Russian - "pass"
    means missing a turn in cards,
     in English it's the same
    and plus
      to pass exams.
    While "pas" pronounced [pɑ:]
      does not mean much,
    only "a step" in dancing,
      taken from French as such.
    Oh, my! These different languages,
      different minds!
    And yet it's all the same,
     we are all one.
      And no new people in this dismal world.
    The generations come and go.
      But all the same
    it is all one...
    You go and go
     And what's the goal?
      The goal is God!
    If you forgot...
    Oh, let us pass
      the Central Gate
    by heplful Angels...
       Don't be late!
    Oh, I forgot!
      The brilliant talents
    given to us by Talented Angels...
      Where do THEY take them from and how?
    The answer's in the air...
    Now I'm on the Central Lane 
        (it's almost night)
      paved with the pavement slabs,
    'gainst which there was 
      a lot of fight.
    For people were afraid and not in vain -
     the city's done
    they'll start paving the skies... and then - no rain.
    I'm all alone in these dark gloomy parks,
      but soon I'll see my bless`ed drakes and ducks,
    which were nombreux*
      during last time.
    This phrase seems very easy now.
      I hope I can say more in French. 
    Oh, my!
    Again I'm on a bench
       and see a heart of snow,
    whose middle is pierced by a hole.
       Oh, shall I take some pix at all?
    It isn't hot.
      Il ne fait pas chaud.
    I should have put on much more wool.
      Without a flash nothing is cool.
    We're thinking of the distant future times
      while we don't know
    what'll happen in two minutes' rhymes.
    And what has happened?
      I got really cold
    and turning round
      have to go back straight home.
    Salut, les canards,
      à demain.
    Although tomorrow I will never come back here.
    Never you say never.
    But I'm so sure, my dear.
    This saying has a flaw.
    Unflinching's only the Eternal Law.
    But still I hope, my tender ducks and drakes, 
      to see you all one day and make some photo takes.
    Since I am getting really weak during these weeks
      I think of Scandinavian sticks.
    And I keep losing friends
     and in my mind
    I'm going back and back to my first love -
      along the usual line.
    He's lived his life
      with someone else,
    which is a plight.
     Together we'd have gone to Ireland, Iceland, Wales...
       And that would've been nothing, but all right.
      I do not know
    what he is thinking 'bout day and night.
       I know, however, he is not a happy knight.
      And now our experiences differ so.
    I'm really cold, it's really time to go.
    Each walk is different,
      each poem has a different rhythm.
    I'm looking at my life
      like through a prism.
    Had I gone straight
      at the beginnig of the walk
    it would have been a totally different talk.
    I should have truely lived my life with him!
      Why didn't I go just straight!
       It was my fault, my whim.
    And now it is too late.
    Although this life is all 'bout choosing between good and bad
      "there's nothing good or bad,
    but thinking makes is so".*
      I'm cold, but still alive and not yet dead.
    I really have to go -
       straight home.
      I think,
    I should've put on much less lead 
        upon my heart
     and on my head -
    more wool: a thicker scarf, a better hat,
      and on my feet - some wollen socks, I bet.
    Cold is my nose and frozen are my cheeks.
      I'm sitting on the first cold bench.
       Life is a blick.
    Dec. 16, 2020  
    * Les canards sont nombreux. From my poem WINTER TRYPTICH:
    * the famous quote from HAMLET, THE PRINCE OF DENMARK

  • © Copyright Слободкина Ольга (olga_slobodkina@mail.ru)
  • Обновлено: 15/02/2023. 6k. Статистика.
  • Стихотворение: Поэзия

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