19th century poetry to flash fiction - Smirnov's transposition of Pushkin
Here is an excerpt of Yuri Smirnov's transposition of Pushkin's poem Gypsies. In America today, the poem has become flash fiction, the gypsies have become activists and a myriad of other changes in content naturally take place, all while retaining the original's form. The full version will be available in our immediately forthcoming first collection of transpositions. See www.tranposing.net for more.
The next morning.
Amanda bustles about the still house. “Good morning, Z:
it's a clear day.
Want some coffee?...
It's good to wake up early if life's short and you want more out of it...”
The three clattered about noisily,
collecting their belongings.
No sooner had they hoisted
their shoulder bags over their heads
and gone out,
than the crew was descending into a cellar
A row of wooden chairs sat the leading members:
impatiently a rusty bike brakes and clangs into the rack.
guests and assistants
Everything poor, wild, ungainly.
But all as lively-energetic,
as far from suffocating luxury,
as far from the life of indolence
as we find the upper class complaints
close to monotonous!
the young man looked at the grimy basement and
~ sad for a secret reason ~
didn't dare to interpret it.
Sable-eyed Zemphira stands beside him.
placed where the morning sun
angles through the
he becomes a voluntary member of the org.
But still... what is agitating the young man's heart?
What's he stewing over?
God's gull knows nothing, not anxiety nor adversity, has no second thoughts 'bout flying on. It dozes on a branch throughout the night; the red sun rises; the bird obeys the voice of god, spreads its wings and caws. Spring, nature's grace, cedes to sweltering summer, till late autumn delivers fog and lousy weather. People bored, people sad. The gull flies to a coastal enclave, a jagged cliff, close to the ocean, disappears till next spring.
Similar to the carefree bird is he,
the vagrant walk-away.
He's known no steady nest,
nor could get used to one.
He's taken random roads,
found a place to sleep on beds of all kinds.
With a good night's rest,
he surrendered to god's will.
Life's trials could not
disrupt his deep-rooted calm.
a remote chance gave him hope like the loan;
from time to time,
unexpected luxury and fun landed at his feet.
Above his solitary head,
it wasn't rare for a close call
to almost knock him out,
but he remained unfazed
and partied when
the threats subsided.
He was the sort of person who lived without knowing
the danger of blind insidious extremes.
But you can imagine how passions roiled his obedient soul!
In what agitation they bubbled
in his tormented breast!
Have they settled down?