Memories

M@DD0G wrote: I recognize that writing from my days in the service during the Cold War...and a cute little Ruskie named Oksana....

Ahhhhhhhh....memories.....LOL!

:peace_v:

Yep, not possible to forget Матушка Россия...

{DOU}.R_Mad wrote: [quote=M@DD0G]I recognize that writing from my days in the service during the Cold War...and a cute little Ruskie named Oksana....

Ahhhhhhhh....memories.....LOL!

:peace_v:

Yep, not possible to forget Матушка Россия...

Я вижу, что начинаем разговоривать по руски. A ну хopoшo, давайте.

Мне очень интересно R_Mad, oткуда ты знаешь руский язык?

Поздравляю!

:peace_v:

{DOU}.R_Mad wrote: [quote=M@DD0G]I recognize that writing from my days in the service during the Cold War...and a cute little Ruskie named Oksana....

Ahhhhhhhh....memories.....LOL!

:peace_v:

Yep, not possible to forget Матушка Россия...

Mother Russia? A Russian Chilean?

:peace_v:

Матушка Россия.... Мать Волга....

Самарская область.... Тольятти.....

Whenever I look at the sea, and walk on the warm sand...

I think about your blue waters, and the soft slime of your shore, Mother Volga…

In my dreams I see sunflowers in spring, the golden wheat in summer,

the sweet autumn rain, and the white mantle of snow in winter..

I remember the rusty old train tracks to Togliatti, as I walked in my father's hand, jumping the rails, while he was thinking about his distant Valparaiso…

And whenever I think of you, my tears fall full of nostalgia and sorrow…

Only God knows if I will return to walk near your shore Mother Volga…, motherland,

but if one day you call me to take care of you, you know that it would give my life in order that you continue running free…

You astonished me, R_Mad.

These beautiful words that you wrote - is it poetry, or your memories?

What can connect nice Chilean girl and such a far-flung place on the Earth like Togliatti ❓

...

«Волга, Волга, мать родная,

Волга – русская река,

Не видала ты подарка

От донского казака!

Чтобы не было раздора

Между вольными людьми,

Волга, Волга, мать родная,

На, красавицу прими!»

...

The old railway between Togliatti and Kuibyshev (now Samara)....

R_Mad you are just a lovely person.

You must be something special. It paints a vivid picture in my mind.

Thank you

Biggy

{DOU}.R_Mad wrote: Матушка Россия.... Мать Волга....

Самарская область.... Тольятти.....

Whenever I look at the sea, and walk on the warm sand...

I think about your blue waters, and the soft slime of your shore, Mother Volga…

In my dreams I see sunflowers in spring, the golden wheat in summer,

the sweet autumn rain, and the white mantle of snow in winter..

I remember the rusty old train tracks to Togliatti, as I walked in my father's hand, jumping the rails, while he was thinking about his distant Valparaiso…

And whenever I think of you, my tears fall full of nostalgia and sorrow…

Only God knows if I will return to walk near your shore Mother Volga…, motherland,

but if one day you call me to take care of you, you know that it would give my life in order that you continue running free…

Rad wrote: You astonished me, R_Mad.

These beautiful words that you wrote - is it poetry, or your memories?

What can connect nice Chilean girl and such a far-flung place on the Earth like Togliatti ❓

2big2handle wrote: R_Mad you are just a lovely person.

You must be something special. It paints a vivid picture in my mind.

Thank you

Biggy

Thx Rad, Thx 2big2handle....

Nice words... 😀

What is the difference or similarity between memories and poetry?

Memories make us all in poets....

This is a translated version of a song named "Those small things" from a Spanish singer Joan Manoel Serrat...., is about memories...

"Everyone believes

that the time and the absence killed them....

But its a train that sold tickets

of going and return..."

"Those small things,

that were left by the good times

in a corner,

in a paper

or in a drawer."

"As a thief

they watch you behind the door.

They have you so to its favor

as dead leafts

that the wind drags there or here...."

"They smile sad to you, and they make us cry when nobody sees us..."

And what connects Toggliatti to me...?

I think you should already perceive the answer Rad....

AQUELLAS PEQUEÑAS COSAS (THOSE LITTLE THINGS)

Music and lyrics by Joan Manuel Serrat

Translation by Coby Lubliner

Uno se cree

que los mató el tiempo y la ausencia.

Pero su tren

vendió boleto de ida y vuelta.

Son aquellas pequeñas cosas,

que nos dejó un tiempo de rosas

en un rincón,

en un papel o en un cajón.

Como un ladrón

te acechan detrás de la puerta.

Te tienen tan

a su merced como hojas muertas

que el viento arrastra allá o aquí...

Que te sonríen tristes y

nos hacen que

lloremos cuando nadie nos ve.

One might have thought

That time and absence left them forsaken.

But on their train

A round-trip ticket’s what they’ve taken.

They are those little things left over

From a time when we were in clover,

Stuck in a nook,

Or in a drawer, or in a book.

Just like a thief,

They hide behind the door while spying.

They have you at

Their mercy, very much like dying

Leaves that the wind blows here and there...

And with a sadly smiling air

They make us cry

When there is no one watching nearby.

[link2]Joan Manuel Serrat, http://youtu.be/XzFPhOoKliU [/link2] [link2]Ikira Baru, http://youtu.be/aAC5TerletQ [/link2]

Our rooks

I look at the sky full of anxiety …

will return all our rooks, healthy and safe?

Now I can understand how strong are our ties,

We in land, the pilots in the air, depending of us…

In land, all together silently we wait, our guide's work ended.

For them it is the moment of the combat ….

- Belka 1!, belka 1!, belka 1!- is the sound of their voices

Thay had found the target that we guided them….

- Belka 1!, belka 1!, belka 1!…. they repeat...

They say it so special and I am thankful ...

Now time passes ... passes slow, very slow ....

I look at the sky full of anxiety ...

And finally, there are our rooks flying….

There are…!!, we jumped happily.

I count them: one, two, three ... six.

Thank God, they come all ...

Thank God for bringing them healthy again ...

Tears fall down my cheeks

And one after the other, the rooks land.

Beautiful, slender, but full of scars of war... the rooks... our great rooks.

All return and bring our comrades back home ...

Welcome home, welcome back home…!!!

Every pilot goes down with slowness and caresses his plane.

One of them gives me a special look

And I give a special look to him...

Is my pilot, is my life... is my love...

And he come back.

Thanks rook number 26, you brought my happiness back home again...

Still worth living life, in spite of so many pains in this sad wartimes...

Today my father remembered you, beautiful Togliatti. And I stroked his gray head, thinking about you too....

Saudade?

Wow!

R_Mad and Rad.....

Sweet poetry, both of you. I've never been able to write like that but I can appreciate those that read and write beautiful words such as these. It's soothing and sad, happy and glad.

Nice stuff and thank you for sharing these thoughts and words whether there yours or of someone else's.

2Big but very little.

Respect rooks story....

Rooks are simple and efective anti-tank planes. Or sturmovik. Assault planes. We know them like Grach...