OK, I’m committed to a stanza a day for the rest of the month. Yesterday I built on end-rhymes from a stanza n Vikram Seth’s The Golden Gate. Today, back to the source of the Onegin stanza: Pushkin’s Eugene Onegin, as translated by James E Falen. The arbitrarily chosen stanza that supplied the rhymes is in Chapter Two.
November verse 11: On fair dinkum politics
The dream of being ruled by sages
is defunct. There on the crest
of Parliament Hill a wildfire rages.
No charm can soothe that savage breast
whose fuse is blown by power surges,
trust’s betrayed by carnal urges.
Far too many old white men
talk only to themselves and then
they watch Sky News. Is there a swelling
cloud to quench that toxic flame,
to make that coal-fired monster lame
and save our sweet blue planet-dwelling?
You want a hero? Save your breath!
It’s all together now – or death!