English Poems

Dust To Dust

House to house.

Place to place.

Mouth to mouth.

Face to face.

Nipple to nipple.

Skin to skin.

Ripple to ripple.

Sin to sin.

Pleasure for pleasure.

Gain for gain.

Measure for measure.

Pain for pain.

Treason for treason.

Treat for treat.

Reason for reason.

Deed for deed.

Fire for fire.

Blast for blast.

Dire to dire.

Dust to dust.

Little by little.

Cry by cry.

That’s how people

Live and die.

April 26, 2002

Mourning Game

When someone dies, we cry,

We mourn and sob and weep

For those who become relieved

Forever from this trial.

That’s why we think we cry.

What we truly are crying about

Are not those who pass away,

But us, who are here to stay,

Ourselves, the lively crowd.

That’s what we cry about.

We’d rather join their ranks,

But rushing is not allowed,

And is punished without a doubt.

We are still stuck on these banks,

Really wishing to join their ranks.

This game is so well played

Each time when we cry and mourn

Someone who is gone.

It’s self-pity of the highest grade.

The mind’s game that’s so well played.

May 30, 2002

Good Time Prayer

Thank You, God,

For the lightness of being,

For the freshness of thought,

For the wonder of seeing,

For the softness of touch,

For the warmth of feeling,

And for carrying so much

To the point of healing.

But above all

Thank You for hiding,

‘Cause without hiding

We would not be seeking,

And without seeking

We would not be finding,

We would not be loving,

We would not be living.

September 4, 2002

On Visiting The Frost Place

Robert Frost Place brings a peace of mind

Resembling his lines of ease and grace,

And prompts the thoughts of a special kind,

The simple thoughts that come and amaze.

The love of the enemy is way too much

To ask at this point of the human race.

We are not there. But the places such

As this one could become the base.

The life would be just a piece of cake

If all: rich and poor, slow and smart

Could give each other a little break –

The break, it seems, is where we should start.

Giving a break comes from piece of mind

In the places which open the inner eye

With the special simplicity so hard to find,

That goes so deep, and flies so high.

September 7, 2003

A Car Is Standing In The Rain

A car is standing in the rain…

I want to think it feels the pain

Of raindrops drumming on its roof,

For this, I’ll never find the proof.

I am, too, standing in the rain,

My joys are going through the drain

Of unforgiving, restless thoughts.

No proof is needed that it hurts.

But if the raindrops hurt the car,

Much like the thoughts that drain the life,

We both should proud be so far

Of decent and enduring strife.

September 24, 2003

The Cause Behind

There are some people we dislike

And even those who we despise,

To meet them is a dreadful plight

And disenchanting compromise.

There was that boy in my high school,

Unpleasant creature, as it seemed,

He wasn’t bright, or brave, or cool,

Or charming character indeed.

So kids were making fun of him,

And teachers, slow to protect,

Were ready to accept each sin

Of his demeanor as a fact.

But then how shameful did we feel

When cause behind became unveiled:

His mom was terminally ill –

The cancer crept into her bed.

The boy was giving her the help,

He never knew or seen his dad,

The fear and hopelessness he felt,

Despair was his only friend.

So when we find compelling case

To let dislike into the mind,

Let’s not forget that each disgrace

Most likely has its cause behind.

September 24, 2003

Can Poetry Save Lives?

As I was driving home

From my first ever meeting

Of The Society of Longfellow,

My mood romantic and mellow,

I felt like poetry reading.

I sometimes do that while driving –

So far much better than news,

The chatter that I refuse.

I mumble the lines to myself,

Either mine, or someone else’s,

It calms me down and helps

To escape the life’s mundane,

To survive the length of the drive.

That’s what I was doing then,

On that November night.

When I stopped at the traffic light

Before getting on my street,

I tried to remember right

A couple of lines of my own,

That I couldn’t read.

Now the light was green,

I should have already moved on,

As I would normally do,

Through the deserted crossroads.

But I posed for a second or two

To recall the escaping words.

I was unusually slow.

Normally I push the pedal

Not waiting, and off I go,

As if I can get the medal

For something like coming home.

Suddenly a car swished

From my left driver’s side,

Where I should have been

Just two moments ago,

Had I not been so deep

In the forgotten poem.

Someone went on a very red light

At a pretty breathtaking speed

For a nightly suburban ride.

The car passed by, I got the lines right,

And moved on to finish my journey,

To think about what happened.

It may look unsafe for an attorney,

Or for an insurance agent –

To recite poems and to drive,

But on that November night,

It probably saved my life.

November 19, 2004

In The Traffic Jam

It was bumper to bumper,

And I loved every moment of it.

It was so slow motion,

So gracefully fit.

It was time to enjoy the surroundings,

To enjoy the bumper sticker

Of the car in front of me,

And little pieces of litter.

I watched the litter with awe.

It was moving with the pace of the Earth,

These chunks of junk were sacred

Particles of the universe.

They were spinning with all of us

As Earth turns around itself,

And also around the sun,

And around the galaxy center.

That was a lot of spinning,

Although very slow,

From the point of view of observer

In the endless car flow.

The universe was expanding

In one gigantic exhale,

As I was standing

In the midst of the traffic jail.

It was the gift of grandeur

To be stuck there for awhile,

And I couldn’t help but to wonder,

I couldn’t resist a smile.

December 15, 2004

The Best Thing

I’m watching you stand,

I’m watching you walk,

I’m listening to what you say.

I’m watching you do something mundane,

Like putting the books on the shelve.

And I think to myself,

It sounds so simple, but here is what I think:

I like what I hear and I like what I see,

You are the best thing, you are the best thing,

That ever happened to me.

I’m watching you dance,

I’m watching you smile,

I’m watching you cry sometimes.

And everything else, that catches my eye

About you is so nice.

I know it sounds simple,

But here is what I think:

I like what I hear and I like what I see,

You are the best thing, you are the best thing,

That ever happened to me.

September 18, 2010

Waiting For You

You are leaving now.

But I’m not sad.

In fact I’m totally fine,

Because as I’ve said

You are always mine

No matter where you live,

No matter where you are

Or even who you are with

I’ll wait for you forever,

Because as I said before –

You are worth, you are worth

Waiting for.

You are leaving now.

I wish you all the best.

I’m sure that somehow

I’ll figure out the rest.

In fact I might have a plan.

I know what to do.

Between now and then

I’ll be waiting for you.

And I can wait forever,

Because as I said before –

You are worth, you are worth

Waiting for.

You are leaving now.

But life goes on.

Don’t you feel so down.

Sometimes we have to move on..

But I want you to remember

In case you need a clue:

I have no other agenda

Except for waiting for you.

And I can wait forever,

Forever is a long time.

And even if we’re not together

You are always mine.

I’ll wait for you forever,

Because as I said before –

You are worth, you are worth Waiting for.

September 22, 2010

Boris Zverev and Alexis Levitin

The scent of a newborn

The newborn scent is a wondrous thing,

As is the very fact of birth.

From nothingness it all begins,

A tiny bundle of light on earth.

For just some weeks that scent is there.

And then too soon will disappear,

The fragrance spreading in the air,

Replaced by anxiousness and fear.

What is the source of this fresh smell?

Is it the breast and its warm milk?

Is it the womb’s deep secret spell?

The wafted scent as soft as silk?

Is this the scent of awe itself?

Is it the baby’s awe or ours?

This boon we sense beyond all wealth,

This poignant melting smell of flowers.

But once the baby starts to see,

And breathe the heavy air of earth,

Grown rooted here no longer free,

He’ll bend beneath the gift of birth.

And therefore, when you want to hold

Your baby in your awkward grasp,

Breathe deep that scent of awe and fold

Him tight, before the miracle has passed.

Transcreation from Russian July 29, 2023