Watching the Ripples Radiate.
Author: marshalg

Chapter 123
Russia's Velvet Melancholy


Across the ice a baritone

Projects his notes of steel,

A tenor’s harmonizing

Adds the melancholy feel

And the glory of the voices

Flows out through Alders bare

And the listeners weep for Russia’s soul

And the tragedy found there.

The tragic melancholy

Found in every Russian heart

Liberated by the sadness

A fine harmony can impart.

Of the monolithic yesterdays,

Those forgotten fields of dead

And that fire within the vodka

Which numbs the pain inside the head.

Dark stains along the timber wall

The wood fire’s stones make steam

It fills the room with stifling heat

Which sweats the bodies clean.

Red wheals raised on shoulders

Birch swatches whip the back

Whilst companion tones of maleness

Move in vectors women lack.

Red larches in the foothills

Gold candlelight on snow,

The vastness of the ancient steppes

Of Central Asia flow.

A viola’s velvet passion

Slips beneath a cottage door

And the intensity of sensation

Brings grown men to tears once more.

The vastness of the terrain

The hardness of the land,

The bitter cold of northern wind,

Each freezing winter spanned

By Siberia’s lashing gales,

The snow is metres deep

And turquois ice as hard as steel

Beneath which rivers creep.


Rasputin and the Tsars,

Great Lenin, Marx and Trotsky

And the swords of horse Hussars

Gorbachev the great redeemer,

Poor Yeltsin’s pale white skin

And the murderousness of Stalin

Span the politics within.

This Russian melancholy

Lies deep within the soul

It’s a product of the history

Of the nation’s brutal goals.

It’s a product of the suffering

Inherent in their past

Endured by legions of the populace

And then dispensed… With a laugh!





Mangere Bridge

13 April 2009


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