Tour Guide, Odesa, Ukraine
| 4 mins read
Fragments of Travel Onegin.
(The translator - André Markowicz)
*
So I was a Odessite -
In the dust and the blue sky;
In Odessa; the success
Makes adventurous sailing;
There, lives only by Europe,
The south shines, vibrates and expands
Its rich barilée ardor;
This is Italian that is spoken
In the streets run the Slave
At the proud soul; Armenian,
The French, Greek, Egyptian,
The Spaniard and the heavy Moldavian
And the pirate Tripoli
Upon retirement, Morali.
*
Toumanski knew verse sound
Paint Odessa, but our friend,
In this poem aue I love,
Had shown bias.
He landed, and poet,
Erra, armed with his glasses,
Alone on the shore; after this,
In charming verses he extolled
The parks and gardens of the city.
He did well, but, you see,
This is the bare steppe everywhere;
The young councilors their effort
Made just planted abrisseaux
A meager shade for summer.
*
Where was I, dear delusions? ...
In the dust, I had said;
In the mud, I could have said:
I would not have either lied,
Because for five or six weeks,
The city offered to perennial rains
Is swallowed up end to end,
Dark under mud tides.
The walls are stained; the crowd
Takes stilts to go
What once was the floor,
People and carriages run,
For drojkis, massive beef
Replaces winded horse.
*
But the hammer is already active
And paved armor
Will come soon cover the banks
For the city to be saved.
Yet in this humid city
There is a treacherous default;
And which, in your opinion? - It is water.
We need major projects ...
Now what? evil is not immence,
Given that the wine imported eest
No customs duty, and then summer;
Tthe sea; strike; indolence ...
Friends; what do you need?
It is a blessed country of fate.
*
I wake up and I above
The gunboat in the morning,
Back down the steep slope
To the sea for a swim.
Then, quickened by the stinging water,
I smoke a pipe burning
And Muslim in paradise
Drink coffee which thickens.
I walk out. Opens; helpful;
Casino where the dealer
Scans still sleepy,
And draws noisily tables
Encor wet when two merchants
Already have their money.
*
And all saw; cheerful, severe,
People running in the wind,
Or busy with nothing to do
(Very busy usually).
Children of lucre and daring,
The merchant, across the square,
Go see him if heaven renvoent
His sailboat off for months.
What new goods
Are now recorded?
Is the promised wine in?
What war? of the crisis?
Where are the plague and the fire? ...
Who knows what is said.
*
But we whose rich recklessness
Taunting marine hazards,
We do not expect that hampers
We promised the Black Sea.
Oysters are delivered? The jubilation!
We see the youth greedy
Swigging their pearly prison
Embellished with golden lemon,
This vibrant and fat recluses.
Shouts and clatter ... The lightweight wine
As soon as the bishop is led,
Othon, jovial, comes and goes;
Time flies, heavy Account
Grows over our speech.
*
The evening sky becomes dark blue
And the opera brings us together
Where Orpheus tames the shadows -
Sonne and radiates Rossini.
Deaf to the disdain of the problems wise,
Always new, toujoujours the mèmts,
Its sounds will spread, burn, boils,
You upset, char, nt, play;
Passionate kisses girl
While mixer, energy,
As arises the wine of Ay -
The jet; foam that sparkles ...
But what idea to compare
Wine and do-mi-fa-sol-re?
*
And all the rest of delights?
And glasses of indiscreet?
Appointments backstage!
The primadone? And balet?
And the lodge where dazzling,
Trone young negotiating
At the languid air, indifferent,
Surrounded on soupirands blades?
She hears everything and remains deaf
For cavatinas; the sighs,
At his flatterers, its martyrs,
As for the husband, heavy breath,
Behind, he sleeps, he shouts "bravo",
Blinks, snoring again.
*
Final - and suddenly the room
Empties; we go out in the crowd
Towards the lanterns, stars;
They shout in the street cumbersome.
The son of the happy Ausonian
Humming a cheerful aria
Reminisce a pattern;
We braillons recitative.
The night. The city sleeps, serene;
Nothing, not a breath, not a word;
Vibrant sky; in his halo,
The moon shines in the air
Lightness of whiteness ...
The sea runs its rumor ...
*
So, I was a Odessite ...