Poetry Archives Bio
December 5, 2012
2:22 AM
Sorrow

This is my translation of «Печаль» by Виктор Цой [Viktor Tsoi].

To Rod Moody-Corbett

On the freezing-cold ground stands a city quite great.
There burn all the streetlights, and the cars honk and blare.
And the night o'er the town, and the moon o'er the night,
And the moon tonight is blood-drop-red bright.

A house there stands, lights are on,
Out the window the morrow.
So then whence did it come, my sorrow?
And, seems, I'm well and alive,
And, seems, no reason to grieve.
So then whence did it come, my sorrow?

And around all is grace—can't make out the damn place,
And around all is pretty—visibility's shitty.
And everyone shouts "Hurrah!”
And everyone runs headlong,
And above all this mess breaks a new day anon.

A house there stands, lights are on,
Out the window the morrow.
So then whence did it come, my sorrow?
And, seems, I'm well and alive,
And, seems, no reason to grieve.
So then whence did it come, my sorrow?