Vladimir Delba
The Winter Omens
In the mountain heights, at the airy
Borders of the grey dawn’s even plateau,
A sun ray lost its way, – being fairly
Vivid, – looking a scarlet stiletto.
As an ace of an astral corrida
Was it overwhelmed by passion, –
And in no time smoothly succeeded
Making blood-red all peaks in succession.
On assuming that skies were its own
Colored purple the heavens all over,
But, – bad luck! – in a gorge it fell down, –
Turning into a sparkling crush-shower.
In the canyons lay pieces aglow, –
Akin ancient blades decorated, –
And went out, the skies far below, –
In the lawns with the wet saturated.
Now the mounts are out of fancies:
Covered with the lap robes of clouds,
Be awoken they have not got chances,
Do not want to pull off their shrouds.
There are only winds dashing wildly, –
They from boughs tear off leaves beastly;
Rocks and gullies are looking untidy,
Dying down are lights in heights misty.
Translated by Vyacheslav Chistyakov
Vladimir Delba
Something Shadowy
Shades on the inner walls appear, –
I cannot their dance distinguish, –
But should my own guilt diminish
While seeing off the grievous year.
There is a heavy snowfall, –
The snow’s covering my dwelling, –
Itself my memory’s availing
To roll a cold ball in the soul.
I’ve shut the secret door to heart, –
Can cope with the fate’s decision;
Feel free to get a clear vision
For pursuits however hard.
The verses fly with fancied ease
To a fantastic distant country, –
And will provide for me a bounty
Of senses – and my stress release.
Translated into English by Vyacheslav Chistyakov
Vladimir Delba
“‘Round Midnight”
In memory of Dexter Gordon
Once again, – at the farewell recital, –
Final notes he should emphasize,
And forever defending the title
He arouses grasps of surprise.
Floating forth goes out a sound
Over dark sleepy waters, – and spreads
The calm evening a mystical shroud
Woven from inconceivable threads.
There isn’t a trace of a swagger
When his saxophone’s gotten quite cool,
And the swings of the great April saga
Ceasing are in the deeps of his soul.
At this time a madcap swarthy player
In Montmartre again and again, –
Like a mantra, a special prayer, –
Is repeating the charming refrain.
Might be it is a new fate unfurling, –
The young jazzman, – he may outfight; –
While a strain in the attics is whirling
‘Round midnight, in bliss of the night.
Translated by Vyacheslav Chistyakov
Vladimir Delba
Evening Sounds
Skies have spread out
musical sounds
over the dark starry bay, –
full of the doubts.
Noises are faded, –
and have created, –
in its original way, –
feelings but eerie and nutty…
Strings of the rain and the wind,
babbles of the leaves I hear.
Fortune will suddenly split
with a great ecumenical fear
silence, unusually dense.
How long will it last, the Almighty?
My pain is immense!
Translated by Vyacheslav Chistyakov
Vladimir Delba
The Monastery at the Lake
The dawn sails by above the lake,
Away melt sounds of the bell,
And frosty trees at this daybreak
Upon the domes cast a spell.
Communion purifies your soul,
Divine are icons of old age, –
Conforming to its holy goal
A line soars upwards from the page.
There are the laces of shy rhymes;
There are the heavens half asleep.
Night shadows clear off the skies
And plunge in waters, calm and deep.
Translated into English by Vyacheslav Chistyakov
ABKHASIAN PASTORAL
Here is autumn. A mist floats over the gorge,
Ripe persimmons contend the dusk sun,
Dark blue hills with bright edges accord soul purge,
Works are done and days off have begun.
Brood in vats restful grapes colored amber and gold,
And the vineyards impart winy scent,
And the grapes are compressed with a song as of old, –
O, Dzhadzha, godly presents you’ve sent!
Soon the holiday starts, we will see with good grace
Weds, the charms of the girls very soon;
Happy I am, – my God! – how warmly I’ll praise
The first amachar as a great boon!
Note:
Dzhahzha – a goddess of fertility in Abkhasian mythology.
Amachar – a young not fermented wine.
DELBA, VLADIMIR MIKHAILOVICH A prose writer, poet, essayist from the Republic of Abkhazia. Born in 1946. Secretary of the Association of Writers of Abkhazia, a member of the Russian PEN Center. Co-Chairman of the Literary Council of the Assembly of Peoples of the World. Published in the media of Abkhazia, Russia, the USA, Kazakhstan, Ukraine, and Montenegro. Author of ten books. Winner of several international literary awards.
