The Poetry of
Michael G. Khmelnitsky

This is my translation of «Сидя на красивом холме» by Борис Гребенщиков [Boris Grebenshchikov].

Sitting on a beautiful hill
I often visions see and this is what it seems still:
The point is not in money or in numbers of women,
Nor in tired old folklore, or in New Wave's cool trill—

But we are walking blind in strangest of lands,
Our joy and fear are all that we have in our plans,
Fear that we're worse than we could be,
And joy at the fact all's in dependable hands;

In every dream
I am simply unable to say no,
And I'm running somewhere, but then when I awake,
I am hoping you will be with me…