Poetry
(translated from Russian by author & Gaylord Brewer)

Bashlatchiov, magician of the consonance,
and you, Vyssotsky, martyr of the height,
give me the sad and the magestic flight,
touching the strings and torching out the distance.

Your shoulders saved me falling in the night
and gave the courage to my lone shout:
to fill the lines with pain, to drink them out
and thus to know what's dark and what is light.

O poetry, the bridge over the chasm!
You are the hard and dangerous charisma.
You give no hope to stop, no chance to rest...

But here they sound, defending from the fall -
verses and songs of those who came before.
Defend, my voice, the ones who will come next.

The original poem in Russian
The list of the poems
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