I have a sort of despair. I job as engineer at plant. Engineers like me in other countries have enough high income. But here my chiefs don't want to do so or a little like so - for me - because "crisis". I have respect in the plant, but it give no use for my income. In latest five years prices of goods had risen some in two, some in three times in my country, but my income is the same as five years ago. I am 48 and it is too difficult for me to find a new job.
I can live so-so only because my wife. She is a baby-sitter in the family of one businessman. He add her pay according to prices hike. Several years ago my wife has income 25% more than myself. Now she has almost in three times more than me. But she has an ache in her small of the back. And it is unknown how long she can work later.
Several years ago I learned myself to write poems (in Russian and attempts in English), later I had written my scientific-theological openings (My aquaintance physicists perceived my works very approvingly). But those editors, whom I send it, do not want to issue my works. My wife don't believe in my success in this way.
So I conceived to do my play in image of the robber. I want to sing robbers songs, dressed in robbers clothes which was made by myself, with my funny wooden big pistol and dagger (self made, too), coming where people is crowded - in corporative, marriage, birthday party and similar to.
I had written several robbers poems and songs. I try to find musician who can accompany me (recently my friend recommended me one).
I see only such way to help my wife and my family, maybe, if the good fortune loves me, I can help to other poor people. Now I almost can not do it.
I present you one of my robber's songs especially written for English speaking readers
I was inspirited to write this poem after having read the book “The treasure island” written by Stevenson.
Then I imagined, how I behave myself, as if I become the robber.
And you can see that my inward essence is very horrible indeed, although my appearance is very respectable and kind.
I want to be a robber
I want to be a robber –
The most in the world;
It’ll be my job and hobby –
To rob of men their gold.
I will rob using music
By singing my long song,
Those I'll be choosing
Who are with money "strong".
I’ll make my awful pistol
Of wood and cardboard tubes,
My wooden dagger: it’ll
Help me earn well my roubles.
I’ll put on robber’s clothes,
My cloak and my sign,
My Arab shawl, my goal is
With mý look you to bind,
That you're without moving
Just listen what I sing;
I wait for your approving
and all that you can bring!
And I’ll begin to sing my
Long song to terrify,
That all the people will try
To bring without “why?”
This is my way to torture -
With robbers songs to make
You help for my good fortune...
Forgive me for God's sake!
Another way to earn is
Impossible for me;
To rob with songs is only
The way I can be free
Of fear to be caught by
the police, they don't know,
They'll be with only thought: "Why
Does he rob, but not so?"
I’d like to save much money –
The pile must be too great…
And maybe it is funny -
I'll give back all that weight,
But whom, I don't know,
As yet I don't rob,
But I believe that so
I’ll have a better job!
And if you've read this poem,
You owe something me!
Come here to my home
My robbers play to see!
(It is enough to roam -
Bring quickly all my fee!)
But if you pray for saving
From me, then you are saved
And you can be behaving
As if it has been paid.
But what a pity! Sorry!
The poet has no use?!
And whether you don’t worry,
That mý fee I can lose?
I’m waiting for the letters,
The answers – very thick,
And rather! It’ll be better –
My fortune must be big!
And if you cannot pay me,
Then send my poem them,
Whose sum is very fancy –
Like that Bernanke Ben.
And if they don’t answer,
Then tell me soon; I will
Think something else. I wonder
With greediness they’re ill!
It is expensive writing,
That’s written by myself –
With it I do my fighting…
Who is with me to help?!
12-13 September 2012
Andrey Son of Lion,
Russia, town Balabanovo,
between Moscow and Kaluga
I can live so-so only because my wife. She is a baby-sitter in the family of one businessman. He add her pay according to prices hike. Several years ago my wife has income 25% more than myself. Now she has almost in three times more than me. But she has an ache in her small of the back. And it is unknown how long she can work later.
Several years ago I learned myself to write poems (in Russian and attempts in English), later I had written my scientific-theological openings (My aquaintance physicists perceived my works very approvingly). But those editors, whom I send it, do not want to issue my works. My wife don't believe in my success in this way.
So I conceived to do my play in image of the robber. I want to sing robbers songs, dressed in robbers clothes which was made by myself, with my funny wooden big pistol and dagger (self made, too), coming where people is crowded - in corporative, marriage, birthday party and similar to.
I had written several robbers poems and songs. I try to find musician who can accompany me (recently my friend recommended me one).
I see only such way to help my wife and my family, maybe, if the good fortune loves me, I can help to other poor people. Now I almost can not do it.
I present you one of my robber's songs especially written for English speaking readers
I was inspirited to write this poem after having read the book “The treasure island” written by Stevenson.
Then I imagined, how I behave myself, as if I become the robber.
And you can see that my inward essence is very horrible indeed, although my appearance is very respectable and kind.
I want to be a robber
I want to be a robber –
The most in the world;
It’ll be my job and hobby –
To rob of men their gold.
I will rob using music
By singing my long song,
Those I'll be choosing
Who are with money "strong".
I’ll make my awful pistol
Of wood and cardboard tubes,
My wooden dagger: it’ll
Help me earn well my roubles.
I’ll put on robber’s clothes,
My cloak and my sign,
My Arab shawl, my goal is
With mý look you to bind,
That you're without moving
Just listen what I sing;
I wait for your approving
and all that you can bring!
And I’ll begin to sing my
Long song to terrify,
That all the people will try
To bring without “why?”
This is my way to torture -
With robbers songs to make
You help for my good fortune...
Forgive me for God's sake!
Another way to earn is
Impossible for me;
To rob with songs is only
The way I can be free
Of fear to be caught by
the police, they don't know,
They'll be with only thought: "Why
Does he rob, but not so?"
I’d like to save much money –
The pile must be too great…
And maybe it is funny -
I'll give back all that weight,
But whom, I don't know,
As yet I don't rob,
But I believe that so
I’ll have a better job!
And if you've read this poem,
You owe something me!
Come here to my home
My robbers play to see!
(It is enough to roam -
Bring quickly all my fee!)
But if you pray for saving
From me, then you are saved
And you can be behaving
As if it has been paid.
But what a pity! Sorry!
The poet has no use?!
And whether you don’t worry,
That mý fee I can lose?
I’m waiting for the letters,
The answers – very thick,
And rather! It’ll be better –
My fortune must be big!
And if you cannot pay me,
Then send my poem them,
Whose sum is very fancy –
Like that Bernanke Ben.
And if they don’t answer,
Then tell me soon; I will
Think something else. I wonder
With greediness they’re ill!
It is expensive writing,
That’s written by myself –
With it I do my fighting…
Who is with me to help?!
12-13 September 2012
Andrey Son of Lion,
Russia, town Balabanovo,
between Moscow and Kaluga
