The young man, all agog with love and fast-approaching Death…
– Zhukovsky
Above a lake in which one might well drown,
along a road where one might be knocked down,
beneath a sky of con-trail dash and dot
I saw a horse pulling a rickety cart,
and realised as I watched that herbivore
that these components made up something more.
This entire scene was like my native parts –
where hay is fragrant and the dogs do bark,
toasts raised to Russia, carp hooked on the line,
where Klava walks out with her Nikolai,
and where there are so many friends of mine.
One in particular sprang to my mind.
Even for Moscow, this frost was a hard one.
My friend was sober, pensive, flush with dough.
He split his banknotes into two big handfuls.
Reflected, then decided to take both.
We went to the top restaurant in the city,
they let us in, although they had their doubts;
we wheedled the best table, set up business,
and hangers-on immediately turned out.
Much gravitas was gained as platters emptied –
not by my friend, for he was growing light,
turning into a quite amazing mentor,
with plans to set the entire world to rights.
Stretching himself to his considerable measure,
to clashing forks, and also kitchen stink,
he said: ‘Behold, my friends, once more we’re beggars,
and this will be our final farewell drink!
Let’s toast the planets on their constant way,
Pushkin, the Russians and their friends the Jews,
let’s bring good news to all who stand and wait,
and tell them there’s no death, and never was.’