Speaking In Tongues
Guided by Voices

Andrey Tozik

Translated by Sergey Mikhaylov





* * *



don't cry about a string
taking a bow
sound unborn
feels doubly pain
so hold your tongue
playing solo
make your arm strong
for maximum strain




* * *



The end of skylight,
or an edge-on light -
it's just a lightning's flash
reflects upon your face;
a shoot of thunder -
like a heart-wound shoot;
the ancient fear
with ecstasy - as one -
at the moment
when one step is left
toward the abyss' edge -


to fall - to fly - to rise - to disappear!




* * *



I remember the music - it was so light -
and those bleached fields - their snowy white
served as canvas - the music was living in
the simple things' nature and as a simple thing
earth was sleeping to melody written by
a blizzard for violin and cello - a lullaby.




Exile



The desert wasn't big
and he had to lead them by circles
only scanty landscape
a sand and a wind
covering up the tracks helped him
to keep that secret
many evenings they made many fires
slept pressing close against each other
after a meager breakfast
getting camels up
they moved further and further
after years have passed
after the last drop of their memories
about the past life evaporates
they came to the sea
laughing and crying
like children -
but he one did not laugh.
He was remembering everything.




* * *



Your night dreams' hero
is not like you -
a midnight rake -
a chance passer-by - he will
get into your unconsciousness
like a knife into butter
leaving no trace on the skin -
and who from you two is real
and who from you two is fake?




* * *



So - glory for ever
to unpainted paintings
to unborn poems
to words that weren't spoken
remaining a thought
not a false - but the sky -
high sky - the finest painting -
the ingenious poem -
like Silence - a weightless
bread - the world exists
by their muteness - inaudible music
played without notes




* * *



A fragile butterfly -
match's weak flame -
in a wind, in palms -
And - the poorest creature -
a heart -
a desperate scream
of solitude -
in a night, once…




* * *



…and also I thought - it is good indeed
that coming to a Happy New Year
we become not more happy but kinder -
in spite of the weather -
despite that the sun's not warm -
fully conforming with the natural
calendar - it had shown
frosty signature in my little window -
confirming its authorship -
although we are slightly different by nature -
we could get warm simple with words




* * *



Lifeless fire smolders
In electric fire-place


From ceiling descend
Lifeless shadows on the walls


Lifeless shadows descend
On face and on palms


Looks like down stone stairs
Shadows descend from the ceiling


And from their touch are getting
Cold the face and the palms


Cold is a value of negative sign




* * *



under observation there's confusion in population
however nature can't accept no empty place
so people soon will call someone for the mission
and name him tsar or name him somehow else
and bring their heads to him served on a dish




* * *



the black cat poetry
visits my home seldom -
stepping lightly - soundlessly -
produces - shortly - no noise -
poetry the black cat -
it's impossible in practice
to catch it or even see it -
especially if the chase
in a deep night happens -
black cat in a dark room -
it is known well - is uncatchable -
and wasn't it there - in the morning
you'll be carefully looking for
its traces in Parker's jungles -
in the labyrinth of your hand marks
will you find them? -
black cat




* * *



A concert by the sea.
Close by the surf line - wind brass'.
Helicon, Laokoon, Lebiaphan.
A cattle-drum and the rest of percussions - a little further.
Don't compete with the surf - but do support the rhythm.
More further yet - behind the dunes - where is almost no wind - the strings.
And a bit of flute.
Faded sky, almost white sand, stopped time.
From the audience - only light clouds frozen while rising.




* * *



bell of the well - a silence keeper -
a guardian of the moon - of the underground stream -
of heavy weighted metal of a depth


the eve of speech - the language's borderline -
between a song and a repentant prayer -
bell-ringer, hand of your's hopelessly weak


can't make the heavens hear to you - can't reach
the bottom without breaking the reflection -
and echo does distort the names




* * *



the name - forget it - react to hallo
young man - citizen - comrade -
those who says seeing you - old fellow -
are becoming scarcer - you can't correct it -


on a direct question answer - no one -
the best way - discovered by Odysseus -
anonymous sea will save you as it had done
with the singer blind - with Danaya & Perseus




* * *



But still alive is the Gothic motif
of brick houses steeples bridges
And the ghost town displays itself
as if the picture was made
long ago but has been developed
just nowadays - and when
silence over the town spills
suddenly time turns back


And memory - a river - overflows
And Hoffman's cat unheard
appears




* * *



Simple things, tables and chairs,
Closets and mirrors, books and carpets,
Steps, stairs, apertures of windows,
Pipes, doors, banisters and taxis,
Trams, trolley-buses, buses,
Stations, airports, random file
Of forgotten talks, of wishful dates,
Of hallow tiffs, forgiveness' and commitments
And emptiness of the familiar apartments,
Almost your own,
Already strange, the walls, the ceilings,
And standing at a doorstep with a suitcase,
The last one, thanks to God, your feet aside,
Some papers, just a refuse
And photo of the Moon
Made from the other side




* * *

You know - in a day literally
Whole town has hidden in greenery
I missed the very moment
That I love the most -
The instant when trees are shrouded
By green haze and the town sinks in it
Like a rusty vessel -
Overloaded, lost




* * *



trains sometimes run off the rails
rockets take off and burn up
ships in the open sea
fail to notice each other
submarines lie down on the bottom
like wounded seals


what can I say about a heart?
so little, so much human?




* * *



Autumn - the skyline
is like a line below
an arithmetic process
of addition -
usually - substraction
and empty woods await
as does a scenery
for an unfinished drama
where the main hero because of
miraculous ascension
exits the stage
loosing his weight




* * *



This summer's colors -
the dusty gold
sky
faded to white
heavy dreams
at down
crazy nights
and days are
oppressive like talks
about money
(make money!)
gathering clouds
draw with rain
(draw off - draw in - draw back)
this summer - whole -
is a wide open window
(make love not war!)




* * *



…Fall in this town
looks like a dream
and nobody wants to be awoken
pines in this town sway in a team
with chestnut-trees
and faces of strangers walking
are beautiful like those dreams
that you long to be in
till the very next spring




* * *



…if would you know how is it bitter -
to be alone in cold and empty house -
the holidays are over and the guests
have gone away and flow away - the children
once in a year they come - and taller
become and as it looks the house
grows into ground and so many apples
unpicked this summer in the garden left