suntanned face had lost its tint
And, growing dark, it turned to stone.
Well, stand and wait. Freeze up and
don't fail.
Shut up under a lock your feeling.
And here comes a nightingale,
And starts its wary, tormenting
trilling.
The sand, liketime, streamed down
the trench in a flow...
I've got no one but you.
I don't need anyone else.
Do you understand?
A lily of the valley on tiptoe
Peeked in the crater made by a shell.
Yes, death is absurd, foolish, even
more so
When he, his arms spread wide away,
Said, "Guys, write to Pauline to know
That nightingales were singing here
today."
And sank into the chasm of silence;
for him was no more
The 350th day of war.
He never got his share of life,
of love, of drink,
He hadn't got enough of studying
or reading.
I was beside, in a trench closed in
a ring.
Like he about Pauline, about you I was
dreaming.
And, maybe, in the sand, in slushy
mud, like dough,
And choking on my own blood,
I'll say, "Guys, let Irina know
That nightingales were singing in
our part."
The letter'll fly all the way from here
To Zubov Street in Moscow, to my dear.
And even if it's so, the tears will dry
with time,
And if it's not with me, with someone
else you'd want to
Stand by the same birch tree,
a favorite of mine,
And gaze into a greenish pool of
water.
And even if it's so, children will be
born
For life, for love, and for heroic
deeds.
May they be, too, awakened at early
dawn
By nightingales, our poignant singing
birds.
May they be met by the sun's hot
showers
With flocks of clouds making their
statement.
I sing death's praises in the name of
life of ours.
We'll talk about the dead but later.
Farewell to you, Polytechnic!
Our life's running short. It's not
ovations that matter,
We're melting into human
multitudes
Within your space,
Polytechnic.
It's unbearable to part with you.
The Petrov Club.
Next stop - Supermarket.
How are you, comrade Yermakova.
Passenger, here's your two kopecks.
I haven't seen you for quite a while.
- Hello.
- What's new?
Nothing.
Working all the time.
Can I smoke here?
So that no one see you.
- What's new with you?
- My shoes.
I'm serious. Bought
Czechoslovakian shoes last week.
Nothing else new.
You don't look today
as you usually look.
- And what do I look like usually?
- You're not smiling today.
I'm tired, too much work.
The Mukhin Club.
Next stop - Department Store.
Guys, c'mon, let's buy tickets.
For a long time I will dream
A conductor on the tram.
For a long time I will dream you...
Where're your friends?
They have their personal lives.
Haven't you any personal life?
No, only my public life.
You got to getoff.
You'll miss your stop.
I'm going to ride on, comrade
Yermakova, will finish my cigarette.
Vorobyov Alley.
Next stop - School.
Why do you address me
by my last name?
- You don't like it?
- Well, it's all right...
Why are you asking then?
Just wanted to say
that I got a first name, too.
What is it?
Katya.
Katerina.
Nice name.
- And what's yours?
- Nikolai.
Kolia. Yes, I know.
Now we got acquainted.
Next stop - Stadium.
At first I mixed up all stops,
couldn't remember the names.
The passengers were not happy.
And now I can announce the next
stop without even looking.
I was even memorizing them.
Closing my eyes and repeating them.
Like poems?
Why are you laughing?
When I was in school,
I suddenly began writing poems.
I, too, had mine printed once
in our wall newspaper.
- Really?
- About Paul Robeson.
He couldn't be scared by any fiend,
At last he came to visit.
Our overseas black friend,
A fighter, a singer, and no midget.
Next stop - Proyektirovochnaya.
- Good evening.
- Good evening.
- Here's the money.
- Here's your ticket.
Thanks.
I also wrote public verses,
and also for a wall newspaper.
The leaves of birch trees are so calm,
Here's our own collective farm.
But mostly I wrote about love,
in imitation, of course.
Funny, isn't