Избранные стихотворения
Виталия Пак
Grand hotels
The space of grand hotels is something greatest,
Like travel on a cloud in fancy lands.
It’s something unexplainable, et cetera,
Like being here with you, into your hands.
Let’s have a secret fun at night, today.
Let’s put on rolls at midnight, quick and quiet.
Let’s take a digicam to tape it “not for sale”,
We’re checking corridors in non-aggressive free-style.
Of course, it’s like a teenage or a childhood.
But who can tell that happiness is old?
Respectable apartments, silk and black wood.
You understand that love is fun and gold.
We sign our paychecks, say “good bye” to owners,
And kiss a little cat, which lives in hall.
Our luggage’s outdoor, but we return there.
And now the destination is at home.
Charm
Love me more than yourself,
I’m your pride, I’m your wealth.
I’m a key to your heart.
I’m your second part.
Kiss my eyes, kiss my hands,
I am your happy lands.
Happy starts, happy ends,
Happy round,
Happy dance,
Happy life,
Happy love,
Happy sense.
I am
I’m French girl, while cooking French entrйe and soup.
I’m French girl, while kissing, while being with you.
I’m Russian, while bicycle riding in June,
Through mountains and hills, summertime, afternoon.
I’m English, like England,
I’m Scottish, like Scotch.
I’m Welsh, like a flowers of Wales.
I’m Finnish in Finland.
In Deutschland I’m Deutsch.
I’m Irish on Saint Patrick’s days.
Divan –sleeping
What a picture! Living-room,
Which designed as comp game Doom.
Big divan, white fur on it.
And mob scene on rest. They sleep.
Now I count naked legs,
Shoes and glasses, how much there?
All mobiles are on the floor.
Windows (French) were used as door.
Their visit-cards in bath
With wax candles, someone’s pass.
My conjectures moves to hall –
Yesterday we played paint-ball.
Ah, of course, we used to win.
Princess Royal now is Queen.
And tomorrow, thank you, God,
Week-end, two days “week-end” start.
To Eva
Thank you. You were fond of apple trees,
Which were forbidden, cautions from Archangels.
You started history of mankind, war and peace –
For those, who read the Bible, know their Angels.
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You know, you were so young, how old were you?
So simple way to differ lie or true –
To eat one apple, simply eat an apple.
Today I’m twenty two, I’m giving them a favor.
And apple juice, and vitamins, and savor.
I eat an apple, and I don’t believe this version.
The taste of knowledge… Issue’s controversial.
I’ve got a hope, that everything in life
Has taste of fruits, I know what are temptations.
Despite of all, mom Eva was audacious.
Now boys and girls have got their lovely fashions.
So, thank you, mama Eva, very much.
But Paradise for apple? That’s too much.
To myself
To keep the ball rolling,
Join forces and hands.
Big time in my story,
Big time and big sense.
Do well what you do,
Make headway, you let it –
Respectful, prestigious,
Roll out long red carpet.
To him
It was a journey through a desert
To treasures of my own.
Through dunes and salt lakes,
Time and weather,
To second heart, at home.
I saw his face inside my mind.
I heard his voice, each word.
Through different people, with my guide.
He was my guide, much more.
It was a journey through my heart.
I wept each day, I loved.
My tears were rain, now rains behind.
I’m glad, yes, I’m so glad.
I still remember tears of love,
Hot chill runs through my skin.
What is the love? One real love?
My real love to him?
Quatre seasons
Quatre seasons, notre seasons.
La douceur dans le Mond.
C’est je suis en Septembre, Octobre, Decembre.
Je suis bien dans ma peau.
Je t’embrace, tes cheveaux.
C’est la bague de Cartier.
C’est je suis en Janvier, Fevrier et Juillet.
Tu es bien dans ta peau.
Tu m’embrace, mes cheveaux.
C’est un mot au cadran,
Mars, Avril va tres bien.
Les seasons de l’amour.
Notre seasons – nuits et jours.
La douceur est en tout,
C’est Juin, Mai et l’Aout.
La douceur et l’amour
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Va tres bien. Pour toujour.
Les seasons, pour toujour.
Va tres bien – temps de nous.
Va tres bien – montre de nous.
Notre douceur est en tout.
Christmas chant
I was along – sad weeping song –
Walking along river so strong.
River Neva, one autumn evening,
Island and beach, fortress bells ringing,
Counting quarters
Peter-Paul fortress.
I was so sad, I felt so bad.
Lonely and cold,
But I haven’t told.
Thank you, my God, my Jesus Christ.
Christmas so merry, and smile in your eyes.
Thank you for midnight, and thank you for day.
Thank you for words, which I’m going to say.
My London
My London, every cloud on your sky dome
Was like a pearl with golden blushing cheeks.
So moveless and voluminous, so curly,
As well as curly-headed marble Greeks.
Do you remember me, my shining glances,
My smiles, which I had left on Oxford street.
And my reflections there, in mirror-glasses.
I’m here now again to see, to greet.
I feel your taste in tea with milk and jelly.
I hear your perfumes, gentle as your air.
My London, you are charming almost daily,
But always you are beautiful to stay.
I left my heart beside Westminster Abbey,
My pulse in pulse of roads, in your veins.
I hardly see you through the mist, My London.
I’ve bought umbrella to collect your rains.
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