It was important to me that this translation carried a sense of conversation and argument between two voices as strongly as the original. On one hand, we have a voice fearful of the poet leaving, protective of his fragility, and on the other, we have a disenchanted cynic who has lost hope in Moscow and longs to go abroad.
This back-and-forth argumentation is conveyed in the original with strong contradictions and negations in between lines, and the reproachful address govorish (“you say”). To preserve this stubbornness of both speakers, I chose to add the “oh” interjection in the first lines of the disagreement because I felt that it heightened the pessimism of the second voice. It conveys a certain nonchalance which knows the poet all too well.
Another important aspect of the poem I paid attention to while translating was the characterization of the poet. He is portrayed as a ditz of sorts: hot-tempered, disoriented, and unable to act in self-preservation. I chose to connote this child-like innocence through verbs like "gawk" and "chide”.
Finally, it must be noted that Veronika Dolina recites the poem in the form of a light song, accompanied by her guitar. The repetition of govorish (“you say”) over and over with different statements each time gradually builds up frustration for her interlocutor. This effect is helped along by the phonological composition of govorish, which has three syllables yet is quick and harsh to pronounce, with a grating quality. Dolina almost mutters it under her breath in her performance. In English, however, “you say” is more bouncy with vowels, it is more smoothly digestible to the ear. To compensate for this reduced feeling of accusatory annoyance, I opted for more informal and fragmented sentences in stanzas 5 and 6, which mirror the hurried, staccato rhythm of the govorish clauses.
I believe that these additions and compromises all helped to enhance in English the original’s emotionality, the impression of two sides tugging on different ends of a chord — one convinced that abroad is scary, and the other that home is no worse.
Veronika Dolina is a Russian poet, songwriter, and bard born in 1956 in the USSR. She is seen as the successor to two of the greatest poetesses of twentieth-century Russian literature, Anna Akhmatova and Marina Tsvetaeva, and is called by her fans ‘the last one of the sixties’. She started writing and performing songs in her teenage years, but her career truly took off in her twenties, as she participated in the Grushinkiĭ Festivals and even appeared on television in 1978. She has written over 500 songs of romance, of longing for the past, and has an eye for lyrically masterful metaphors which make her so beloved by old and young listeners alike. Her songs, often accompanied by her guitar, carry emotional tones of melancholy, liveliness, and passion. Today, Dolina acts as a judge in the “Romance of the 21st Century” writing contest on the Kultura television network and resides in Moscow.
Sophia Ampgkarian is a junior at Penn triple-majoring in Comparative Literature, Political Science, and REES. Born and raised in Switzerland to Russian parents, she is curious about the cultural and geopolitical transitions of the post-Socialist world. This is her first submission to DoubleSpeak.