based on the poem by Russian poet Igor Kobzev (1924-1986)
|First date at the conservatory.|
A big, like Africa, a grand piano.
Beethoven's ecstatic sorrow
and Brahm's tart verzagen`.
Then purple twilight crude asphalt
in glow like surface of the river,
on the black lacquer fashion purse -
reflecting lights and spooky shiver...
- Do you remember, in the poems by Tyutchev?
- And what Block said about dance?.. -
We walk, each other slightly torture
by famous quota's rhyming stanza.
We both dressed up, in the rustling hard cloaks;
and all our words are fancy art,
Picasso, music - noisy debates
parade of how we're damn smart.
And we most needed looseness,
to feel bit tender and at ease,
the 'foolishness' instead of wisdom,
and specially - taking risk!
So do not guess by secret signs,
but shout, without hesitation:
"Don't hear, look into my eyes!"
The rest - the theme with variations.
But we're so honest, fragile, smart...
and then like in Chekhov's drama -
where sudden sound of a broken heart...
and in descending order gamma...
And here we go! End of story!
And there's no help from wise mind
as if there's no conservatory,
and longing only phone's sign...
So suffer from eternal solitude
Petrarch alike, throughout the life
excessively high, like Bach's prelude,
sometimes unhappy novel love.
But anyway, although unhappy,
it's where our memory's the cove,
unique and beautiful,
the most of the poems
devoted to First Love.
Image credit: tonyaplank.com