In Modo d'Una Marcia
The train has gone and with it Masha too.
Moscow, where she comes from, couldn't wait
To take her back - express - and leave me blue.
It's destiny, I mutter. This is fate.
With a yen for vodka, my hempen bag
In hand, I check the local huckster's den;
Spare me, please - at the till a drunken hag
Harangues us. What a sorry specimen.
At home at last I put some Schumann on,
The wonderful Piano Quintet.
A teardop stirs the crystal noggin.
How base existence is, and yet, how sweet.
And when the vodka's polished off, what then?
What gems do Trud and Pravda have today?
I'm bored by lies and machination,
The world of bitter words and deadly play.
Cyphers crowd the Kremlin's balcony -
Below them, tanks and rockets end-to-end
Flow past for hours. I confess: I'm guilty.
The joy I should be feeling can't be found.
Let her materialize now above me
I'd happily take my place at her feet
But we live in a gerontocracy
You're either senile here or counterfeit
The train has gone and with it Masha too
Devouring cold tracks like a red arrow
She is fading to the point of zero:
Not yesterday, not tomorrow, - right now.
Translated by Bill Tinley
From 'Selected Poems' by István Baka