Tuesday, January 05, 2010
5 January 2010. Krasnaya zara...the Red Dawn... A dark Natasha poised at top of stairs, surveying the hinterland. Last night--through darkened upstairs window, a small face just outside--long nose with pink nostrils, impossibly dark eyes set on angle, fuzzy ears and a brusque furry coat, elongated tail with tiny scales... Opossum...
Or, the Moscow Art Theater, Odessa style--a partisan skit, on the Volkhovsky Front, performed for the troops--soldier and commander. Songs of Leonid Utesov--"Gop So Smykom"--Hop with a Violin Bow.... that's me...
Spirit through all...or at least almost all...
Gop so smykom eto budu ya
Slushayte vnimatelno, druzya
Ryemyeslom ya vybral krazhu
Iz tyurmy ya nye vlyazhu
I tuyrma skutchaet byez menya
No v kakoy tyurmye by nye sidyel
Nie bylo minuty shtob nye pyel
Zalozhu ya ruki v bryuki
I khozhu, poyu so skuki
Shto zhe budyesh dyelat kol zasyel?"
"But whatever prison I may be in
Not a minute passes without me singing
I stick my hands in my pockets
And walk around singing out of boredom
What else can you do when you've been tossed in the clink?
(Version Zygmunt Frankel)