Igor Isakovski in Translation: Blues Phone booth II

 Blues Phone booth II

1. In the city, sometimes it is hard to allow yourself to have a friend. Luckily, sometimes you overcome the cowardice. "Do you like rurality?" I ask. "I do", she says. The night is completely ours, and we can be relaxed. "Do you like the Blues?" I ask her, but I really think "Do you need a friend?". "Yes, I love the Blues" – she says and something sparkles in her eyes. “I’ll play the Blues for you“ I say, and I feel mighty.

            Albert King – I’ll Play the Blues for You

13. How fast the pictures are coming... Water irretrievably disappears from two mighty hands, sand irrepressibly runs away between the fingers, air waves before the coming of a big summer storm, trees with fire in their leaves, trees with red leaves, red mountains near the highway south from here, yellow grass on northern mountain peaks... pictures, like mixed movies of a too romantic director, a white stripe on a blue sky, white foam on a rocky shore, pictures are coming fast, fish in silver overlapping with water, a bearded mountaineer in search of his son, red mountains, yellow peaks, gray ground and burned fields and trains that have forgotten their schedule and have forgotten their railroad tracks and have forgotten in which time and where they should arrive so they roam everywhere as if looking for something, as if looking for themselves, as if longing for a poem written in river's foam...

            Peter Green – Last Train to San Antone

14. Climbing and running down the stairs, going around in circles, looking for a place to build a comfort on, looking for the south side of my own soul, living the Blues.

            T.S. McPhee – You Don't Love Me

15. You change the professions as seasons are changing. You change the places for hanging out until you get stuck in your own room. You change the face colors like a mad warrior. You don't change your word, don't change your view. You change your greetings, you change your shirts, you change your cigarettes. You don’t change the beer. You change your skin, as a snake king changes in its season. You don't change your word. You don't change the word.

            Bob Dylan – Gotta Serve Somebody

23. He tells me his story. One of the many. I look at the mountains, I roll the shades so I could see better, so my view would be broad and open. He tells me his story. "That woman," he says. I look at the mountains because I know that soon they would be hidden in fogs and rains. "That woman," he says. "She had eyes that reflected the poison in her." The mountains are like female backs, I know they long for my hands, yet I have lots of doors to open, a long road to walk on, many odors to protect myself from so they would not deceive me, before I move towards them. "I couldn't take the poison from her," he says, "as if she was engaged with death," he says. "As if she was engaged with death."

            Ron Thompson – Pin-eyed Woman

45. You meet in a cold night, the air you breathe frosts and brakes as it falls down. In your heads there are sounds from the sounds of the music and from the sounds of the words, and you have a sound of odor in yours, too. You sing, he says "Show me the way to the dark side of the room".

            The Doors – Alabama Song

46. The wind cries Mary, and I would rather hug you than this guitar of mine. My name is Jimi Hendrix.

            Jimi Hendrix – The Wind Cries Mary

57. Understand the language of the night, as the road signs lead you behind the mind, as the winter nests in the cathedrals' corners while you roam and look for the Blues. Understand the fragrance of beauty, enter the warmth of water, watch how your thoughts float below the ceiling, make a shadow on the wall that would remain after you are gone, so you may say to yourself that you've done something.

            Muddy Waters – Sitin' Here Drinkin'

133. Nobody's perfect as nobody is free.

            Nina Simone – Blues For Mama

134. At a sunrise, they make a photo of me in one of my favorite bars. I keep on doing what I was doing during the night that is gone. I have no one to tell me how ugly, or decadent, or sick what I'm doing is, and it is great that way. Really great.

            Lenny Kravitz – Stop Draggin' Around

666. My father-in-law and I are drinking slowly, quietly talking about some minor things, until this song starts to play. And then, he smiles, he tells me about times when Jambalaya was a great hit, when everyone danced on that silly song. We put the music louder. We laugh.

            Johnny Copeland – Jambalaya (On the Bayou)

667. She wakes me in the morning, dragging my feet, we should be off. "It's early, much too early," I would like to say, but I don't say a word. I get up, I submissively rise. "We should be off," she says. We set off. Playing "merry geography". The day spreads in front of us in all of its Sunday vividness. Who knows where we are going to arrive today. We are merry passengers.

            Johnny Copeland – San Antone

670. From dawn till dark, from work straight home, I deliver music notes through dark alleys, through windy boulevards. From dawn till dark, ever since I’ve known myself, I’ve delivered music through dark rooms, through shiny suites. From dawn till dark, and in the deepest night after – to speak the Blues.

            Jimmy Rogers – Hard Working Man

672.     heavy heavy
            cloudy day
            you walk hushed in your winter coat
            sky drops tiny
            thoughts don't fade
            something dooms you           

            eagerly you seek piece of sky
            then apparently reconciled
                                    you wipe your eyes           

            cloudy day

            J.J. Cale – Cloudy Day



Translated by the author

(From "Blues Phone booth II," Blesok, Macedonia, 2007)


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