Archive - Today we will try to touch upon such a previously untouched topic as poetry.

 Today we will try to touch on such
 a previously untouched topic like poetry.
 I am not claiming that we have become pioneers
 authors in this topic, since they have already been
 attempts before.
  As an example, I will mention this EJ
 as English Subliminal Extasy, translated
 in the issue of which there was a whole page
 dedicated to poetry. But the level that
 was this poetry does not allow us to publish
 forge it (even loosely translated) from
 Censorship considerations, although for the sake of example
 I’ll give you one poem, and you,
 If you are interested, better find it yourself
 magazine. So, here it is:
       Magoo had a little lamb.
       She tied it then a pylon.
       10000 Volts vent up its ass,
       And its wool turned into nylon.
  There will be no translation, but I hope that when
 If you wish, you can translate it yourself.



 And we will continue our poetic sittings
 ki ctuxotbopehuem, invented by one of
 our editors are impressed by the articles
 ZX-REVIEW.
      Let's connect the screw, SOUND BLASTER,
      Everything will be like in IBM.
      A bunch of printers with mice -
      Let's not leave the Amiga behind.
      An old joystick will come in handy -
      DENDY doesn't need him anymore.
      Monitor Color, processor-
      You can do VGA.
      We are from our native Spectrum
      We are happy to do everything we can.
      If only Sinclair suddenly saw
      Your ownThe computer didn't recognize it.
                    ***
      What a miracle is before me:
      SOUND BLASTER, mighty screw,
      There are four piles of joysticks,
      TV, disk drive,
      Cycle key
      And under this terrible appearance
      An age-old secret is hidden.
 In the depths of this creation
      A small processor is included.
      Its frequency is considerable -
      As many as eight megahertz,
      If you turn it on, of course,
      Super turbo mode.
      That monster was called
      A terrible name among the people
      And from now on he wears it proudly
      The name is SCORPIO.
                  ***
  How do you like it? In my opinion, not bad. They will continue
 our poetry so called
              HARMFUL ADVICE.
              (for IBMers)

 If suddenly on your hard drive
 An evil virus has leaked
 Don't treat him with Lozinsky -
 The virus also wants to live!
 Infected programs
 Scatter it on BBSs,
 And you, your colleagues
 Will be remembered often.

 If suddenly in your program
 The customer discovered a glitch,
 Don't look for mistakes:
 You can't be wrong!
 Explain to him, bore,
 That he is a kettle and mediocrity,
 And then he goes to your company
 Will not bother you in the future.

 If suddenly your car
 Doesn't work as it should
 You're on the motherboard
 Hit your fist hard.
 If it doesn't help, hit it with a sledgehammer,
 Kick the monitor...
 You will then explain to your superiors:
 "She started it first!"

 Who hasn't climbed through the windows?
 With a button mousehand
 He's a great programmer
 Doesn't count yet.
 Don't swing his legs
 Do not pluck your mustache,
 Don't look at him for hours
 On the hourglass.

 If you're not sure yet
 We chose the path in life,
 And you don't know why
 Start your labor journey,
 Then write in Pascal,
 People will thank you
 You will help the people
 Break your brains.

 Never clean disks
 C, D, E, F, J, K, L
 This is a harmful occupation
 Leads to nothing
 Well, what if there is no space
 Record more games
 Buy a new hard drive
 Better on 1 and Z.




            (for sinclairists)

 If you suddenly decide to do
 You are a system program,
 Don't invent TASMs-
 You'll just break your brains.
 Write better boots-
 It's simple and doesn't take long.
 And your works will be able to
 All Russia appreciate!

 If suddenly in some megadem
 They didn’t say hello to you anywhere,
 Don't leave it all like that,
 And remember who made the megadem.
 And then rivet the demo yourself,
 And wrap all the radishes
 Then they will immediately remember you,
 And they will say hello from BEST WISHES.


 Take the Scorpio computer
 And the third STS.
 Load it into Scorpio,
 There will be a big glitch.
 And for STS to work,
 Throw out Scorpio
 Buy yourself a Kvant-BK,
 He goes there too.

  Well, okay. What am I all about computers
 yes about computers?  We also need a tribute to the classics
 give away.Recently from confidential sources
 we have more studentsit is known that the so-called
 The so-called “new Russians” asked for a re-
 conduct some works of the classics
 Russian literature into something more understandable to them
 "thieves" language. And then they got into our magazine
 excerpts from the almost translated "Grief"
 out of my mind...


  ChaTsky: It’s barely light and you’re already on your feet! And I
 at your feet. Well, kiss me, weren’t you waiting?
 Speak!  So, are you happy? No? In my face
 look.   Surprised?  And that's all?  Here
 welcome!
  Translation: Early on I roll like plywood, but
 I'm not fofan, I'm garlic! And yours is pretty bad
 xabepa, but you stick around, I delayed my time.
 Why aren't you grinning? Are you not happy with your buddy?
 A was intimidated, as if she hadn’t been expecting it.
                    ...
  ChaTsky: The legend is fresh, but it’s hard to believe
 labor.
  Translation: Come on, fill up the bullshit
 coffin
                    ...
  Chatsky: Ax!  My God  ! Am I really here?
 again.  In Moscow!  At your place.  How about you
 find out? I am destined to see them again
 fuck!  And in whom will we not find spots? When
 let's wander around, return home, and the smoke
 the fatherland is sweet and pleasant to us.

 Translation: In nature, Kerya, my shalman is born -
 noah, where am I on the haz, not a simpleton with big teeth.
 This is how you lean back and sink to the bottom,
 you hit the joint and the liver presses, presses...

                    ...
  Famusov: That's it, you are all proud!
 Would you ask how the fathers did? We would study
 looking at the elders: we, for example, or
 koynik uncle...Translation: You are such a master at botching. And on from-
 take it hard.  I'm a thief in law, not
 goner. I would learn how to straighten a horse,
 Cossack and report to the cops as needed.

                    ...
  ChaTsky: Who are the judges?
  Translation: Who's trash?
                    ...
  ChaTsky: I don’t go here anymore. I'm running
 I won’t look back, I’ll go looking around the world for where
 there is a corner for the offended feeling!  -
 Carriage for me, carriage!

 Translation: Well, that's it, Khan, the age of will is not vi-
 give.  I fraer out of quiet sadness. Master,
 speed up the train!

  Are you tired of poetry yet? Then be
 ready for a surprise. We decided within the framework of
 our magazine to include excerpts from small
 published book "Parnassus Standing on End"
 (I advise you to look it up - it’s very funny).
 the authors parodied famous poets
 using a traditional plot. Although what I
 I’m telling you all this - see for yourself! (By the way
 the author of the parodies is Russian philologist A. Finkel)



 S O B A K I


 The priest had a dog
 He loved her.
 She ate a piece of meat
 He killed her.
 Buried in a hole
 And he wrote the inscription,
   that:
 The priest had a dog
   etc.


 SONG OF HIWATH

 In the halcyon days of the world,
 days of joy and happiness,
 in Ojibway land
 there lived a gray-haired teacher-katsik.
 He had Mishenawa,
 the dog is crafty and learned,


 and the old man doted on him
 in Mishenawa, the intelligent dog.
 Once sitting by the wigwam
 and listening to the groanfalling asleep Shux-shux-gi,
 Long-finned gray heron,
 he thought deeply
 and forgot about pemmican,
 what for the evening meal
 neighbors brought it to him.
 Then the wicked dog visited
 And, like the vile Shogodaya,
 a despicable and insignificant coward,
 he crept up to the pemmican,
 He ate everything in an instant, the disgusting glutton.
 But KaTsik found out about this,
 And, grabbing my tomahawk,
 he killed with one blow
 the evil thief Mishenavu.
 And then he wove motley wampum
 about myself and about the dog:
 In the halcyon days of the world
 etc.


 William Shakespeare
 SONNET 155

 Yes, I killed it! I couldn't do it any other way
 But don't call me a killer in a cassock.
 I loved the bulldog selflessly,
 I did not spare him bones and meat.

 But he still killed it! Stealing my roast beef
 He changed from a bulldog to a simple mongrel.
 So could he live, having broken my heart?
 And clouding my brain with heavy worries?!

 Yes I killed! But I saved it
 His features are in the hearts of people forever,
 He will live in the darkness of my ink
 As long as there are seas and rivers in the world.

 His tomb is my sonnet. Like this
 Marshak will tell me in Russian.




 Korney Chukovsky

       I
 The priest had a dog
 She was dearer to him than everyone else.
 That dog's name was
 Bully dog
   Lee-
      ho-
         dey.
 The priest went to the market
 And I bought a samovar there,
 The samovar is new,
 Twenty-liter,
 New samovar -
 Ay-ya-ya!
 Firms "Batashov and
 Sons."
 Today to my dog,
 Dog-dog,
 Celebrating his name day


Pop
 Ebtpon.
      II
 The priest is happy, the priest is glad:
 The birthday table is rich.
 Radish, turnip, tomatoes,
 Cucumbers with mountain cabbage;
 Thick, thick, thick, thick
 There are cabbages piled up there;
 And salad and mayonnaise -
 Just a miracle of miracles;
 A hundred pounds of chocolate
 One Hundred Pounds of Marmalade
 And a thousand servings of ice cream.
       III
 Likhodey is only watching
 From my point of view:
 What a disgusting lunch -
 There are no bones or meat;
 Even the lard ran away
 Flew away in broad daylight
 And the cheesecake is like a frog,
 She galloped away from me.

 But I won’t let myself be offended,
 I'll take care of myself.
       IV
 And then he growls,
 Let his tail rattle,
 Yes, he’s running to the cellar
 For pork, pie
 And to spite the owner
 I gobbled up two kilos of meat,
 And three mugs of sausages,
 And four giblets,
 And then, having gained strength,
 I ate some fatty lard.
   Eat, eat Likhodey,
   Don't feel sorry for your butt -
   This old stingy guy
   There's more to cook for us!
 How did the priest know about this?
 He furrowed his brow angrily:
   Ax, robber, ah, villain,
   You are a mazurik, Likhodey!
 Old, menacing pop, pop
 Boots top, top,

 And with a deft hand
 A strong rope
 Tightened around the neck
 Vora - Lykhodeya.
 Perish, perish, perish, rogue, -
 Now you're screwed!
        ______

 Having killed Likhodey, the bearded priest
 I dug a hole with an iron shovel,
 And buried him in a hole,
 And he wrote the inscription,
     What:
 The priest had a dog
     Etc.


  That's all.If you liked itidea, pi-
 sew and send your poems. And ours is
 I consider the sitting closed.