 I promised to share more of my poems with you, so here you go. This one is kind of strange, I think, and it requires some explanations. The first person point of view comes from a white wolf, an outcast talking to regular wolves, or maybe to dogs. He describes them as "brown" and as a "dog herd," criticizing their vulgarity or conformity. The white wolf is proud to be different. He is even arrogant, describing his uniqueness and the special relationship he has with the moon: "I sing songs to her pale face//And she pours love to me from the sky." The white wolf is clearly condescending to the ones he is addressing: "I love you the way one loves a child," claiming that they are afraid of his difference: "your gaping fear has sharp teeth." My favorite verse is the last one, where the white wolf recognizes that he is pathetic and miserable. He opposes those who (supposedly) hate him, yet understands that they are all intrinsically connected as "parts of one eternal whole." This yin and yang kind of relationship is so vital and strange that it hints "at the courage of nonsense." (Nonsense in this context means an oxymoron, a paradox). Although the white wolf acknowledges his misery, with the very last line he still asserts his power over the mundane: "the universe is the shiny pupil of my eye." The poem was originally written in Russian. The translation lacks the rhythm and rhymes of the original, unfortunately. You can my other poems, most of them still not translated, on this page.
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