Monthly Archives: January 2007

Today, on January something or other, the blog RPCBetc. was killed while playing Mafia. This is a sad death (no sound, no warning) as it was such a young blog. Sad as its demise is, it is perhaps fortunate to have perished at such a tender age, so it never had to grow old and bloated and die of chickenpox (a dangerous idea that almost makes sense).

The blog will live on in our hearts and you will still be able to go and reread all the old, wonderful posts (yeah right). But henceforth, Mariner agony, Blazer agony, Gooner love, posts about Russia that I never posted and political dogfights will now be put up on Silent Shroud.

Silent Shroud, does anyone care it still exists? I need the extra posts from RPCB to have more consistent posts. Also, I’m writing poetry less and less often. Scraps often come to my mind, but I cannot remember the last time I wrote any of it down. I hope to write more often, but some aspects of my poetic pursuits seem nothing more that verbal pacing while waiting for long-awaited emails.

I’m pretty busy, so it’s hard for me to blog. For the summer it was mostly practice so that writing and I wouldn’t become drifted-apart friends. I hope to soon go through my notebooks and find poems worthy for posting. But poetry lovers you will have to learn with sports on this page. Sports::Poetry::Religion::Politics::Russia::Whateverelse:: are all quite important to me, so I hope that they will learn to live in peace. Also I would like to write more original posts in Russian and English.

Thank you and Good night…

I drew this during a four(ish) hour delay on my return trip from Tennessee. I had felt sorry for the girl because I felt that I had made her look a little bit ugly (boyish would be a better word really, for I’m just now starting to try drawing girls), so I gave her wings. I think she had them all along anyway. The idea behind this drawing is of a girl who’s really special and wonderful, but no one really sees that. I drew the man on the right earlier, by the way, and the chalkboard just happened to sneak over his way.

I think also that the idea that she decided to draw fire on the chalkboard gives her kind of a prophet-esque feel.

The accent is ludicrous but it’s another funny VW ad. I don’t even know what car they’re selling and I don’t really care.

Some of you didn’t quite believe that I could read and speak some Russian, even though I’ve only been taking classes for 3 years. Well, I can. I can also offer a poor translation of A.A. Blok’s “In a Restaurant.”

Never will I forget (it happened, or it not
That evening): the fire of sunset,
The consuming and the splitting of the pale sky
and in the yellow sunset–streetlights.

I sat by the window in an overflowing hall;
Somewhere fiddles and bows were singing of love.
I sent you black roses in a goblet
Made of gold, like heaven, like the sky, oh…

You watched. Embarrassed I boldly welcomed
Your haughty gaze and I offerred greetings.
To your suitor, sharply, purposefully
You said: “This is one is in with me too.”

Now, however, in reply the strings roar
Something as their bows sing rapturously…
But you were me in all your despised youth,
Almost perceptible, my hands begin to shake.

You tore through the crowd like a frightened bird,
you passed by, weightlessly, as if in a dream,
And your perfume respired, eyelashes teased
As restless whispers came from your skirts.

You threw me glances off the mirrors,
Between throws, you exclaimed “Catch!”
A necklace is strummed, a gypsy girl danced
While wailing to the sunset about love.

There are several problems with this translation, both in my understanding of English and Russian. From Russian to English I had to use a dictionary, which means that I didn’t understand the implications of some of the Russian.

The English related problems are things as simple as grammar and meter, but another problem is that this a line by line translation. I think a better, more creative rendering of Blok’s verse would be to take it apart sentence by sentence. Sentences still matter in poetry. Lines are there for meter.

My vocabulary is really not that great and I cheated by peeking at another translation when I couldn’t understand some of the sentences.

Here’s the translation I mentioned with Russian text.

В ресторане/In a Restaurant

Никогда не забуду (он был, или не был,Этот вечер): пожаром зариСожжено и раздвинуто бледное небо,И на жёлтой заре - фонари.

Я сидел у окна в переполненном зале.Где-то пели смычки о любви.Я послал тебе чёрную розу в бокалеЗолотого, как нёбо, аи.

Ты взглянула. Я встретил смущённо и дерзкоВзор надменный и отдал поклон.Обратясь к кавалеру, намеренно резкоТы сказала: "И этот влюблён".

И сейчас же в ответ что-то грянули струны,Исступлённо запели смычки...Но была ты со мной всем презрением юным,Чуть заметным дрожаньем руки...

Ты рванулась движеньем испуганной птицы,Ты прошла, словно сон мой легка...И вздохнули духи, задремали ресницы,Зашептались тревожно шелка.

Но из глуби зеркал ты мне взоры бросалаИ, бросая, кричала: "Лови!.."А монисто бренчало, цыганка плясалаИ визжала заре о любви.

19 апреля 1910
I'll never forget (did it happen, or not,That evening): the sunset's fireConsumed and split the pale sky,And streetlamps flared against the yellow sunset.

I sat by the window in a crowded room.Distant bows were singing of love.
I sent you a black rose in a gobletOf champagne, golden as the sky.

You looked up. Embarrassed and bold, I metYour haughty gaze, gave a nod.To your suitor, deliberately abrupt,You said: "That one's in love, too."

And strings rumbled in sudden answer,Bows sang out in a frenzy...But you were mine with all your youthful scornAnd the with the slight trembling of your hand...

You darted up like a startled birdAnd passed by, light as my dream...And your perfume wafted, your lashes drooped,Your skirts whispered anxiously.

But from the mirror's depths you threw me a glanceAnd your glance shouted "Catch me!"While rattling her necklace, a gypsy dancedAnd screeched about love to the sunset.

19 April 1910

I'll never forget (did it happen, or not,That evening): the sunset's fireConsumed and split the pale sky,And streetlamps flared against the yellow sunset.

I sat by the window in a crowded room.Distant bows were singing of love.
I sent you a black rose in a gobletOf champagne, golden as the sky.

You looked up. Embarrassed and bold, I metYour haughty gaze, gave a nod.To your suitor, deliberately abrupt,You said: "That one's in love, too."

And strings rumbled in sudden answer,Bows sang out in a frenzy...But you were mine with all your youthful scornAnd the with the slight trembling of your hand...

You darted up like a startled birdAnd passed by, light as my dream...And your perfume wafted, your lashes drooped,Your skirts whispered anxiously.

But from the mirror's depths you threw me a glanceAnd your glance shouted "Catch me!"While rattling her necklace, a gypsy dancedAnd screeched about love to the sunset.

19 April 1910

And here’s my notes for the translation. Goodnight and have a good year.