Russian-American exchange-student reminiscence
Материал из 24pm
Once the teacher of drafting
From a far away land
Heard the radio wafting
And he could not stay bland.
On the radio news
Of the culture and art
They said: «...nothing to choose,
We are really apart!»
«Russians live on their own,
Nothing common with us.
Yes, there is one fact lone:
The same planet to truss»
We share a planet» and thus
He exclaimed: «What the hack?!
We are mostly the same!
I can prove it in a sec!»[1]
So next summer he came.
He had a plan in his mind:
To show to both lands
That we were the same kind
In the way we wore pants.
Frankly speaking the country
Was in an economic funk,
But there were human beings
Not completely the punks.
He met people and talked,
Tasted «borsch»[2] and «bleeny»,[3]
And wherever he walked,
He discussed a shtany[4]
There were us in one place
(That was high school to say)
Met with him face to face.
I remember that day.
He was truly an American:
International guy,
Honest, kind, little lyrical –
Traits you never can buy.
He invited us all
To visit the U.S.A.
But «no vodka at all» –
That was rule to obey.
There were other suggestions,
But no other so cool,
So without a question
We've accepted the rule.
So we came and we saw,
What the man said was true:
They indeed wore the pants
Like all Russians would do.
We had fun, we had joy,
Met American teens.
Nothing seemed like a ploy.
I bought a pair of jeans.
So since then I still smile
When I put on my pants,
And with smile I say: «Hi,
My American friends!»
Сноски
- ↑ in a second
- ↑ Borsch (борщ rus.) - red-beet soup
- ↑ Bleeny (блины rus.) - flat and wide pancakes
- ↑ Stany (штаны rus.) – pants
Комментарий
This poem is dedicated to Noel Napolilli, the teacher of drafting in Hutchison Career Center, Fairbanks, Alaska.