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  • Old Man

    From Ilya Shambat@21:1/5 to All on Mon Jul 5 21:43:19 2021
    It's dawn, sirens are wailing,
    Seven a.m.
    You that appear like Verlen,
    Wake up old man!

    Eyes childish, angling,
    Green fire makes ash;
    Upon the neck is hanging
    A colored sash.

    He curses, mutters, mumbles
    Words lost within;
    He wants to make confession
    But first to sin.

    A disappointed worker
    A bitter one
    The eye, beat up in melee,
    Shines like the sun.

    Thus having followed Sabbath,
    He drags his feet:
    Happy privation stares
    From every street.

    At home, flying with curse words
    And white with rage,
    A harsh wife meets and screams at
    The drunken sage.

    By Osip Mandelshtam
    Translated from Russian by Ilya Shambat
    https://sites.google.com/site/ibshambat

    --- SoupGate-Win32 v1.05
    * Origin: fsxNet Usenet Gateway (21:1/5)
  • From Ilya Shambat@21:1/5 to All on Tue Jan 24 21:06:31 2023
    It's dawn, sirens are wailing,
    Seven a.m.
    You that appear like Verlaine,
    Wake up old man!

    Eyes childish, angling,
    Green fire makes ash;
    Upon the neck is hanging
    A colored sash.

    He curses, mutters, mumbles
    Words lost within;
    He wants to make confession
    But first to sin.

    A disappointed worker
    A bitter one
    The eye, beat up in melee,
    Shines like the sun.

    Thus having followed Sabbath,
    He drags his feet:
    Happy privation stares
    From every street.

    At home, flying with curse words
    And white with rage,
    A harsh wife meets and screams at
    The drunken sage.

    By Osip Mandelshtam
    Translated from Russian by Ilya Shambat

    --- SoupGate-Win32 v1.05
    * Origin: fsxNet Usenet Gateway (21:1/5)
  • From Ilya Shambat@21:1/5 to All on Tue Apr 11 17:03:38 2023
    It's dawn, sirens are wailing,
    Seven a.m.
    You that appear like Verlen,
    Wake up old man!

    Eyes childish, angling,
    Green fire makes ash;
    Upon the neck is hanging
    A colored sash.

    He curses, mutters, mumbles
    Words lost within;
    He wants to make confession
    But first to sin.

    A disappointed worker
    A bitter one
    The eye, beat up in melee,
    Shines like the sun.

    Thus having followed Sabbath,
    He drags his feet:
    Happy privation stares
    From every street.

    At home, flying with curse words
    And white with rage,
    A harsh wife meets and screams at
    The drunken sage.

    By Osip Mandelshtam
    Translated from Russian by Ilya Shambat
    https://sites.google.com/site/ibshambat

    --- SoupGate-Win32 v1.05
    * Origin: fsxNet Usenet Gateway (21:1/5)