Graffiti Left By Russian Soldiers on Village Wall in Ukraine, Oct., 2022
"No matter what we do, no way we make it out of this life alive."
ON AN EARTH PATHETICALLY SMALL
Роберт Рождественский
(1932-1994)
На Земле безжалостно маленькой
жил да был человек маленький.
У него была служба маленькая.
И маленький очень портфель.
Получал он зарплату маленькую…
И однажды —
прекрасным утром —
постучалась к нему в окошко
небольшая,
казалось,
война…
Автомат ему выдали маленький.
Сапоги ему выдали маленькие.
Каску выдали маленькую
и маленькую —
по размерам —
шинель.
…А когда он упал — некрасиво, неправильно,
в атакующем крике вывернув рот,
то на всей земле не хватило мрамора,
чтобы вырубить парня
в полный рост!
1969
d
Translation/Adaptation by U.R. Bowie
Once upon a time
on an Earth quite
piteously small
there lived a small,
small man.
His job was minuscule to
extremes.
He carried the smallest
of briefcases.
His salary was nothing
to write home about . . .
Then one fine day—
on a lovely, lovely
morn—
came knocking at his
window
quite the miniature,
so it seemed,
tiny little war . . .
They issued him a small rifle.
And then a little pair
of boots.
Issued him a small-sized
helmet
and an ever so small
as sizes go
field jacket.
. . . And when he fell—
his mouth stretched wide
into attacking scream—
not a pretty sight,
and not for reasons good
enough,
then you could search
the whole wide world,
and nowhere find the
marble enough
to sculpt out this
little man,
standing
as tall as he should
sculpted stand!
d
Translator’s Note
The Robert Rozhdestvensky
poem from 1969 belongs to a long and hallowed tradition of Russian poetry that
glorifies the common man who went to war against Hitler and defeated him.
Unfortunately, in the year 2022, given the advent of Putin’s War against
Ukraine, nothing now remains to glorify about the Russian fighting man. On the
contrary, the Russian army, along with the whole Russian Federation is now
bathed in ignominious infamy and shame. Those of us who have been Russophiles
nearly all our lives no longer find much to be Russophilic about. Given modern
circumstances, I have re-translated the poem from the point of view of a
Ukrainian soldier and brought it up to date.
d
Translation/Adaptation, With Variations Updating to the Year
2022
by U.R. Bowie
Once upon a time
on an Earth quite pathetically
small
there lived in Ukieland a
small, small man.
His job was minuscule to
extremes.
He carried the smallest
of briefcases.
His salary was teeny-teetoncey.
Then one fine day—
on a lovely, lovely
morn—
came knocking at his Ukie
window
a tiny little fellow named
Pooty-Poot,
bringing
(along with reams of
grandiose illusions),
quite the miniature,
so it seemed,
teensy-weensy war
(what he called a
“special military operation”).
They issued the Ukie a
small AK.
And then a little pair
of boots.
Issued him a small-sized
Kevlar helmet
and an ever so small
as sizes go
field jacket
(camouflaged,
courtesy of the U.S.A.,
who also sent
lots and lots and lots
and lots
of rockets,
but not a single,
solitary
teensy-weensy
U.S.A.
soldier). . .
. . . And when he fell—
his mouth stretched wide
into attacking scream—
having done his small
all,
for the Glory of All
Ukieland,
then you could search
the whole wide world,
and nowhere find the
marble enough
to sculpt out this
little man,
standing Ukie proud
and waving Ukie flag,
as tall as he should
sculpted stand!
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