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Author Topic: Yuri K poetry, and what wilderness meant to him  (Read 10837 times)

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January 23, 2020, 10:43:16 PM
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Skis in the corner, backpack on the closet,
Mandolin hanging on the wall.
Photo Album. Letters from friends,
Hiking treks - only in dreams…
Abandoned by fate to devil's horns:
There is no talk of mountains here,
Everyone calls me "fanatic"
They shed "crocodile tears".
And laugh, dipping noses in furs,
In life you will never know,
A snowstorm in the mountains,
How the wind plays the taiga.
You will never know grander,
When resting at the top,
And hundreds kilometers along
The green sea of the forests.
You will never see how rocks fall down,
How does the "Sayan vains" grow,
You have never seen the horns of a red deer
And roaring down stream from a clif.
You meet both winter and summer
Behind the double frame of the window,
And don't know the "power"
of sleeping by the fire in winter.
What do you boast about laughing at me?
With ignorance of your vast country?
Going to London, Paris, New York
To dance rock and roll, eat a couple of lobster
To buy fancy pants!
I feel sorry for you!

Y. Krivonischenko.

I copy the poem in its entirety here even though it exists elsewhere on the site----just so people don't have to fo searching.

This poem is so perfect. Georgiy writes so evocatively, and perfectly captures the joy of being out in the wilderness.

Most of my friends think I'm crazy to put a tent into a backpack and go wandering off into mountain valleys. "Aren't you cold? What about bears? Ugh, I'd never sleep in a tent." They are the ones missing out. They'll never know the pure joy of standing on a mountainside and looking over 200 miles of uninterrupted forest. Or of washing weary feet in a crystalline stream, listening to marmots whistle.  I'm with Yuri K when he says, 'I feel sorry for you.'
Anyone else relate?

February 07, 2020, 03:39:08 AM
Reply #1


The two poems are from the interview with his brother Konstantin Krivonischenko

Here is the other one


I look at the burning fire.
Pink glowing flames won't last.
Comrades asleep, the day was dire.
Why can't you be with us?

Where on the world are you now
With a backpack and an ice axe,
What road are you dealt now
Always exploring the fate?
Maybe you’re making your way through the taiga
Knee-deep in the swamp waters,
Or wander under the ruthless sun
Somewhere in the Kazakhstan steppe?
Maybe you are in the snow of the Arctic,
And the blizzard sweeps your track?
Maybe this early morning
You meet the dawn in the Pamirs?
Covered with road dust
Hundreds of miles away from home,
Maybe your night is starless
And you don't think about me?
And you don’t know how often at nights
I move closer to the fire
And remembering you with longing,
I sing this sad song...
I look at the burning fire.
Pink glowing flames won't last.
Comrades asleep, the day was dire.
Why can't you be with us?

Y. Krivonischenko

Yuri Krivonischenko has beautiful sense of rhythm and rhyme that I haven't taken the time to match, translated word for word, except the strophe in italic, that repeats at the beginning and at the end of the Campfire poem.