Brighton’s revival

Михаил ЖИНЖЕРОВ | Поэзия

Brighton’s revival

There’s a bit of Odessa in New York
Built on labour and worn-out shoes.
In its history — fights with the town folk,
And the fighters were Russian Jews.

Where surrounded by shops and billboards
You can mostly hear Russian speech,
Where delicious are snacks from food stalls;
It’s beloved street — Brighton Beach.

Here you meet all familiar faces
That yesterday seemed to be lost,
Here you try the best Russian food places
And hear dirtiest jokes and words.

We live here untroubled, unhurried.
The sun, the beaches, the breeze — we thrive.
And though things can get us worried,
We’re pretty content with this life.

But once on the streets in the darkness
The wind started raising the waves.
The hurricane came horrific and heartless
Destroying the beach on its way.

And scattered by wind everywhere on the ground
Were chunks of the houses and glass of the shops,
And cars ripped apart by disastrous hound
Like gruesome debris, like horror-film props.

And those who were gone unnoticed, unseen,
Who probably had someone caring,
In basements illegal migrants have been;
Their doom was more than despairing

Calamity kept on expanding the surge;
The night was observing the Earth,
How waves in horrific devouring purge
Absorbed every family hearth.

The ocean reclaimed its reign on the land,
The waves kept destroying the life,
The houses and villas, both little and grand,
Once happy, we strived to survive

We need to remember how helpless we are,
The ocean had a lesson here to teach.
«Weather is good on Deribasovskaya»,
It’s hurricane and storm on Brighton Beach.

For weeks without gas or running water,
Without communiations, lifts or heating
In tall high-rises, hidden from the slaughter
The seniors were waiting to be treated.

Relentlessly worked the rescuer teams
But time was just slipping away.
The hurricane with its deadliest streams
Destroyed way too much on its way.

The army stepped in, so did volunteers,
They climbed to the top building floors.
They struggled to help and respond to all tears
But they’ve failed to reach all the doors.

And somewhere you could see a thief —
There’s a black sheep in every flock.
Not many, but some, I believe,
Were looters from Brooklyn folk.

Emotionless faces watched gravely
How left without roofs or gas,
The cars that were still parked safely
Were nevertheless just metal and glass.

But soon all worries away,
Again in its lively beat
This place just couldn’t stay grey,
This wonderful Russian street.

The buzz from the shops and restaurants
Where almost for free you can buy
All pretty things that your heart wants,
Even though they might not be that dry.

Being lazy or sad just can not be allowed,
We’re all hopeful, what else can we do.
The Millenium theatre is open now,
And our Brighton is blossoming too.

Everything will be normal. The sky will be bright.
The city repaired the breach.
«Weather is good on Deribasovskaya»,
It’s sunny on Brighton Beach.


After the letter the place is following,
Where the ancestors lived carefree.
Tint of sound or light near us
Is adjoined to an object
That was for people for a moral,
That always served for torture.
In general the street,
Amazing people there live.
Both old and young trade there,
There is a Russian spirit,
There is a Russian swear.
They shout, laugh, and drink, sometimes.
But never ever lose their heart.

Nothing special

Elderly, pleasant to all, a particle of a large family clan,
A spouse lived without spare problems, in Brooklyn by the ocean.
War and devastation, hunger, roads — everything seen before.
And suddenly again: «Alarm, alarm … The storm unprecedented comes.»

On television, by telephone: «Leave, escape, it’s dangerous!
Vaults are waiting for you, dangerous zone, do not risk in vain. »
«Senya, we’ll leave, we have many relatives. Do not be so reckless.
Senya, because here we are all alone. Senya, I’m very scared. »

«Last year, have you forgotten, they frightened, you bustled, as well.
And she cried, she begged, she prayed, and she cursed, but nothing have changed. »
«Senya, let’s go, enough of bravado. Son and daughter are waiting.
You don’t need to take a risk. Approaching scary night. »

The wife persuadeв «What if.» In the meantime time flied.
Finally, the stubborn spouse surrendered. She’s got what she wanted.
«Okay, let’s go, stop being angry. Of course, we could stay.
After all, nothing will happen anyway. They’re going to laugh at us. »

They came out, everywhere the pitch darkness. Trees bend under the wind.
«Listen, Senya, I’m going crazy. Maybe it’s better to go back home. »
«Enough, it’s not time to arguments now. It’s too late to go back.
Here, not far away, the car — a beast, we can manage to get by with a wink. »

The wind roars, like Satan himself, furiously blowing to back.
Then came a stray wave and covered the car.
The husband and wife hurry up from the car. The wife doesn’t whine, or doesn’t feel scared.
She saw a lot in her life, an emigrant from Belarus.

In the pitch darkness and waist-deep in the water, but aren’t losing patience.
Who’ll help them in this trouble? Where to seek for a salvation?
And there’s no end to this horrible storm. Roars and rages the nasty weather.
And suddenly, a candle, you can’t see the face, just eyes are sympathetic.

The terrible night ended successfully, they changed and they fed them.
«Black» people could help them, and put them to sleep at their place.
In the troubles are not important religions, parties, races and beliefs.
Even you are an emigrant — no antipathy or prejudice.
In hard life moments, in hours of trouble and anxiety.
Not philanthropists or presidents. Simple people will help.

Let somewhere a misfortune happened, a hurricane — the world in hope lives.
Always help, and all helped — the American people.


The green fur-tree did not grow in the forest or thicket.
Not a hare, a fox, or a wolf was enchanted with its beauty.
The wind blew biting it; clouds flew to the river,
It stood at the crossroads in a small town.

High, slim, and lush. As if from childhood dreams.
It did not seem superfluous among cars and houses.
Squirrels were rushing and skipping among the branches green.
Beautiful, juicy cones delighted children.

And once a year at dawn, waiting for the magic
Children dressed her up for the Christmas.
Both high and short, weary of work,
The adults smiled at her, remembering their parents’ house.

But once the clouds came running and with the rage of a predatory beast
A powerful hurricane passed, breaking houses and trees.
It tore out the tree with its roots, easily, as if laughing.
And it fell with branches into a sticky and muddy liquid.
And a lightning storm lit the cruel consequences.
A small particle, a universal evil disaster.

People are rushing to work. Teens are running to schools…
But there is something absent at a small crossroads.

Figure skating

The ice palace is shining.
The ice like diamonds is sparkling.
So wonderfully the orchestra plays,
That the heart is singing in the chest

The feelings are carried away into the mist.
The musical waves caress the ears.
Anguish and sadness are leaving the heart
The joy will be filling a free soul.

The figure skaters are slender,
Skilful and skillful,
Passionate and calm,
Fast and bold.
Couples on the ice, they do not dance, they live,
Suffer and love, dream about something.
Like the fish on the blue sea sailing.
Like birds flying through the clear sky.

They look at the jury.
Judging is not an easy job.
Not all will become awardee
And get to the medal stand.
But after the dance, look at the hall.
Not all are the winners, or awardee.
Does evaluate you only the jury?
Loving viewers put the rate.

The music is merging with the dance
In some passion unseen
And the world around is smiling,
You’re craving love and happiness.

Long live rudeness

The terrible story they told me, my hair stood on end in horror
Some boor at some station dared to raise his voice at a dog.
Against such blasphemy a wave of perturbation arose
The one responsible was punished for his insensitivity and rudeness.

Kudos and respect for animals, and bullies need to learn,
No patience to keep the emotions? Let cry at a person.
Screaming helps you to lift yourself, humiliating is certain way.
This way you develop lungs and calm down the nerves.

But you have to know at whom to cry, and to be careful is very important.
Otherwise, may call the police, or may use the weapon.
Strapper is dangerous too. And you try not to touch him.
He will take and hit in your face so hard, so you can turn up your heels.
Do you want to cry at subordinated ones? There you cannot restrain yourself.
That one will be scared of losing his job, and others won’t support him.

An immigrant as a good choice, since not too proud. Just see that he’s white.
He does not submit to the court and will not hit in your face. You can yell at him boldly.
Shout to the sick, the elderly and the poor. Do not be afraid of these at all.
In addition, there are a lot of them. Shout, insult them and enjoy.
Don’t hold your emotions inside. Politeness and culture is not in fashion.
Shout, cry, yell and scream. Please your viciously rude nature.


Even when rest wary glance. He is surrounded by enemies cruel
Only freedom wolf values. Wolf doesn’t bow to anyone.
He is afraid of every sound. Hungry often, but.
It doesn’t lick anyone’s hand or wave its tail with servility.
Nobody ever helps a wolf. Doesn’t through any food in times of hunger.
The wolf is lonely, hated, so what. The evil, cruel, but proud hero.


Paupers would dream of a bowl of chowder,
Gourmets gush about exquisite cuisines.
One day they took something new from Italia
Pizza what wonderful crust covered with cheese.

Pizza is varied with different toppings —
Broccoli, eggs, parmesan, pepperoni,
Vegies and spinach, tomatoes and olives,
Tempting and teasing mushrooms and anchovies.

Wealthy and poor can’t help but enjoy it.
We like pizza crust made with yeast or without.
It is unhealthy for us and we know it —
Stomach upset and additional pounds.

If ever you walk in the street ‘round lunchtime
Your ravenous stomach drags you to the table
No matter whether it’s winter or summer
Pizza is surely served everywhere.

A boss now and then likes to treat employees.
He won’t read a menu — it’s easy to see —
Pizza is people’s first choice, by all means.
What other variants can there be?

Parties for children, cute little faces.
Morning or evening, breakfast or dinner.
What is the best party treat, cheap and tasty?
Pizza, apparently. What else is needed?

A lady takes pride in her beautiful figure
Her diet is strict so she’ll always stay fit.
Make a 14 inches pizza for dinner —
She might have doubts, but eat every bit.

The Italian wonder beckons, entices us.
Pizza ads sparkle around, far and near.
Just like blood clots block our arteries,
Today our streets produce pizzerias.

I could not sleep one night and walked outside.
I looked up and nearly fell in a swoon —
A huge round pizza was up in the sky.
Phew! I imagined it. It was the Moon.

Wealthy and poor can’t help but enjoy it.
We like pizza crust made with yeast or without.
It is unhealthy for us and we know it —
Stomach upset and additional pounds.

About the author:

Michail Zhinzhirov, was born in 1947 in Chernigov, Ukraine. He finished the Kiev institute of national economy, worked at a military-industrial complex, lectured on economics and the program of the Knowledge society. Since 1094, He has lived in the United States. He has two children and four grandchildren and still works and plans on working long-term.

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