No. 8-9


Varlam Shalamov  

Translated from the Russian by Julia Istomina  


I Live Here, Like a Fly, Tortured

I live here, like a fly, tortured,
But who could part
This thin, webbish,
Indivisible thread?

I don稚 step into a dual
With a thousand-handed spider,
I tear the web with my teeth,
Trying to get out covertly.

And half-dead,
I half-flutter,
Still search for a living occupation,
Still look for rescue. 

Maybe, a human finger
Will tear this web,
Will crumble me and maim me,
And take everything to the sky. 

They値l Shoot Me On the Border 

They値l shoot me on the border, 
The border of my conscience, 
My blood will flood the pages,
That they thus worried friends. 

When the road disappears
Between bristling mountains,
The friends forgive too much and
Carry out a soft condemnation.

But there exist territorial posts
On the service of a personal dream, as
They watch through age-old
Failure, pain and egotism.

When in the cowardly commotion
I値l walk up to the terrifying zone,
They take aim dutifully
While I知 in their sight.

When I値l walk into this zone
That痴 not my own熔f another country,
They値l act in accordance with the law,
The law of our side. 

And in order to shorten the torture,
To probably die,
I知 placed into my own hands,
The hands of the optimal sniper.




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