Note XXXVII
Post Scriptum
- Woe is us; this clime’s bad for health and the mood,
- Every day chains of clouds just get denser,
- The one who later will find these Notes should
- Burn and scatter on the Wind Rose my verses.
- Like the Mongol Horde’s treasure, its crown in old tales,
- Amztarakhan once vanished, passed on,
- And like roaches that fed in the Khan’s ponytails
- With time passing, would also be gone;
- Like during the thaw, tracks of sleighs and of elks
- Melt and leave no marks to observe;
- Like—without a trace also—did vanish the works
- Of nations and the nations themselves;
- Like after a bottle, despair may be banished
- Though at first our souls wrings and smotes,
- The same way—seeking no glory—may vanish,
- Together with the bottle, these Notes.
- But who needs this stuff? Therein lies the rub.
- Why did I, the hunter-ragpicker,
- On the face of existence a blemish, a scab,
- A lecher, and a pimp who loves liquor,
- Compose all these Notes at this river’s spring
- And floated them down in a hurry?
- Such a meaningless loss of candles and ink
- And a waste of the force of the current.
- How annoying: All these years irretrievably lost,
- Playing, singing, and having much fun;
- You gaze in the tumbler—and you’re just a ghost.
- Alas, things look bad, you are done.
- Now I darn my old sack during pre-winter’s spell,
- Fix the fishnets, and sharpen tools’ tines,
- But I know—pushy buds will stealthily swell
-
And burst out from their narrow confines.
- So I dare you to burn, you dumb-as-a-bell,
- My amazing, ingenious lines!
Записка XXXVII
Post Scriptum
- Увы нам, наш климат для нас нездоров,
- Тут тянутся тучи цепочкой.
- Нашедший Записки, на розе ветров
- Сожги и развей мои строчки.
- Как сгинула некогда Амзтарахан,
- Татарской оравы столица;
- Как вымрет когда-нибудь таракан,
- Что пасся у хана в косицах;
- Как в сильную оттепель тают следы
- Полозьев и лосей наброды;
- Как — столь же бесследно — пропали труды
- Народов и сами народы;
- Как после бутылки минует тоска,
- Нам душу шершаво потискав, —
- Так — столь же бесславно — исчезнут пускай
- С чекушкою вместе Записки.
- Кому это нужно все — вот в чем вопрос,
- Зачем я, охотник-лохмотник,
- На лоне бытья заскорузлый нарост,
- Срамник, выпивоха и сводник,
- Записки в верховьях реки сочинил
- И сплавил в низовья куда-то.
- Напрасная трата свечей и чернил
- И силы теченья растрата.
- Какая досада: лета напролет
- Гуляешь, коля́дуешь лишку;
- Посмотришься в кружку — а ты уж удод.
- Хреново, худые делишки.
- Предзимье застало за штопкой мешка,
- Починкой мережи и бочки,
- Но знаю — набухнут исподтишка
-
И лопнут настырные почки!
- Попробуй пожги только, дурья башка,
- Мои гениальные строчки.
Despite its many oddities, Between Dog and Wolf features a strict, formal structure: eight prose chapters from the perspective of the itinerant grinder Ilya Zynzyrella; five prose chapters that concern the life and thoughts of the dog-keeper Yakov Palamakhterov; four chapters consisting of 36 poems written by Yakov; and a final chapter made up of a single, separate poem, again authored by Yakov. As Alexander Boguslawski writes, the chapters follow this pattern: ABCABACABACABACBAC (“How Sokolov’s” 205). Sergei Orobii suggests that “in the novel Between Dog and Wolf, the principle that will become the cornerstone for determining the root affiliation of Sokolov’s texts of the 2000s is mastered: prose is replaced with ease by poetry, or even merges with it. Such a narrative maneuver, of course, originates not in the plot, but in the field of language: considering that the Russian literary language has ‘worn out’ from constant use and has lost all expressiveness, the writer tries to get away from the usual linguistic norms and constructs a unique style, which becomes the driving force of the narrative. Here, the boundaries between replicas, between direct and indirect speech, between chatter and quotation are fundamentally blurred” (299).