Translated material
Rozhdestvenskoye-2
Dmitry Bykov: It’s sad to live in such a huge snowy veil - and stand on a dark, dumb, hellish side!
Christmas, of course, a holiday, children and a saint,
An hour of hopes and fairy tales of different ones, even under the fifth.
At the hour of Rozhdestvensky, however, all Ural,
All pillars and guardians of darkness howl in three throats.
After all, for the knights of the decay, the inhabitants of the ruins,
Everyone who does not need Christ is Halloween.
God would with him, with Kazakhstan. He himself is the cunning.
With my charter I am not a visitor.
I do not live in Atyrau and not in Astana,
Not under the canopy of Alatau, but in the native country.
Let me be alien there, which I understood, -
As, for example, Karagodin and Memorial*, -
But I will not advise a furious crowd,
Kazakhstan, Kyrgyzstan, Turks and Tae PE.
We ourselves will deal with our Mumu,
Without imposing fraternities to the brothers in Yar.
But it is a shame to be a stronghold of dying systems,
Be a support of livelogs, barmaglots of the one,
That we have in the twentieth century, shaking the throne,
Liberals and Esdeki drove twice.
Under the sovereign fight of chimes, chatter jokes -
To be a support for the obscurants, these invaders!
It is sad to live in such a huge snowy veil -
And stand on a dark, dumb, hellish side!
You, Russia, are introducing right troops everywhere,
To trample the embryo of any sprout,
Any sign of dissatisfaction, every reflection of the day -
The army defends this clearly not me.
Here, where there was a cheerful Pushkin, a fierce fat, -
Today is the appearance of Chushkin, the pathos sucks,
Aggressive paralytic, joy of evil milf,
Yarbukh Für Geopolitics, as Ilf would say.
How many of them, where do they drive them, what kind of Holy Shit?
The Internet is rattling, echoing, howling, spinning,
Protecting the language of the stink of any prison:
"There would already be NATO, if not for us!"
He calls us, sensing the weakness, every crocodile -
If only the citizen was imperiously won a trifle!
If only the entrusted mass knew her destiny -
So that the gaze does not rise, the voice did not harden!
There is no dictator of this, the worst of all Bokass
So that the affectionate word does not hear from us.
A lawyer of any atrocities, Herod, Brutus, Azef -
Confuse with strong faith: the Russian Federation is behind you.
So decided the Supreme Caesar, the main guard of the prison:
Of course, we are not an aggressor. But the regressor is us.
The leader and light of all archaic, wasteland, voids,
That the gentlemen groans - and again will break.
Sweeping the crying of powerless orphans, unrequited masses:
It is not Herod that beats, for Herod is in us.
Christmas - I am ready to admit, sincerely sad, -
Only a reason for plowing thirty years later.