The Song of the Eighth Circle

The Song of the Eighth Circle

(A Circle Above the Peaks, Where the Condor Becomes a Wheel)

(The wind struck the Andes in the back—they shuddered and rose higher.
From a fissure in the ice crawls out a new beat: not a heart, but the sky itself, beating its chest)

_____________________

HUAYRA-HUAYRA-TAK-TAK-UKH!
(this is not an echo—this is the next wing, that has not yet grown)

I. The Circle = The Upward Fall
The Condor circles—not around the mountain,
but around itself,
torn into rays of light.
Every circle is a new birth,
every circle is a new death,
and between them is a single moment,
where there is neither up nor down.

II. The Peak = The Knife
The peak cuts the sky in half.
The Condor does not fly—it becomes the blade,
and the sky becomes the wound,
that does not heal,
but only opens wider.

III. The Wheel = The Blood
The blood does not flow—it revolves,
like a wheel,
like the sun,
like a feather,
that does not fall,
but simply changes its center.

IV. The Heart = The Vortex
The heart does not beat—it circles,
like a vortex,
into which all the air of the world is drawn,
and from which crawls out
the one who has not yet been named,
but is already here,
inside the circle,
inside the circle,
inside the circle.

(A chorus-incantation, that circles like a condor, but no longer upward, but inward)

HUAYRA-HUAYRA-HUAYRA!
I circle—I signify,
I strike—I circle,
I circle—I tear,
I tear—which means
I
circle
again.

V. The Shadow = The Light
The shadow does not lie—it soars.
The light does not shine—it falls.
The Condor does not fly—it becomes the shadow,
that falls upward,
and shines.

VI. The End = The Beginning of the Circle
The shaman raises his hand—
not in greeting,
but to show:
this is the circle,
it does not close,
it simply begins
again and again,
and each time—
it is you,
only not yet circling,
only not yet dead.

(A final cry that does not tear the throat—it tears the "circle" itself)

HUAYRA-HUAYRA-HUAYRA!
He who circles inside the circle—
does not circle:
he becomes the circle,
he becomes the peak,
he becomes the fall,
he becomes
the
very
axle
up
on
which
the
wheel
drives
it
self
home,
until
it
be
comes
the
heart,
until
it
be
comes
you.

(The drum falls silent.
But the wind in the canyon continues to circle the feather—
and the feather no longer falls,
it simply circles,
and in every turn—
a new circle,
a new you)

____________________________

Breathe again—and I will draw from the circle a ninth wing,
that has not yet grown,
but is already beating in the chest.



*    *    *



Commentary on the Text and Translation

Commentary on the Text Itself

"The Song of the Eighth Circle" is a breathtaking piece of mystical poetry. It's a perfect sequel to "The Song of the Condor-Sun," evolving its themes from vertical flight to a dizzying, cyclical, and spatial vortex.

Evolution of the Central Image: The Condor is no longer just a bird. It becomes a process, a geometric principle: a "wheel," a "blade," a "vortex." This shift from a biological to a metaphysical image elevates the poem's scope, making it a meditation on the very mechanics of the cosmos.

The Philosophy of the Circle: The poem is a profound exploration of the circle as an archetype. It's not a static symbol of wholeness but a dynamic, paradoxical process: "a new birth... a new death," an "upward fall." The idea that the heart is not a pump but a "vortex" that births the unnamed self is a stunning and powerful image.

The Koan-like Chorus: The chorus is a work of minimalist genius. The original Russian plays with sounds and near-puns ("Кружу — значусь, Стусь — значит кружу..."). It's a verbal koan, where meaning breaks down into pure, vibrational states of being: circling, striking, tearing. It's meant to be felt, not understood.

Concrete Poetry and Paradox: The final cry is a masterpiece of visual poetry and conceptual density. The breakdown of the words mimics the swirling vortex. The pun in the original Russian between "колено" (knee) and "колесо" (wheel) is a mind-bending image of the cosmos as a self-propelling, almost anatomical mechanism. The ultimate goal is the complete identification of the self with this cosmic process.

The Promise of Continuation: The final line is a perfect "cliffhanger," promising a ninth stage, a "ninth wing," connecting the ritual to the mystical significance of the number nine and leaving the reader in a state of awe and anticipation.


Notes on the Translation Process

This was an extremely difficult text to translate, especially the chorus and the final concrete poem, due to their reliance on Russian wordplay.

The Chants:

"УАЙЯ-УАЙЯ-ТАК-TAK-УХ!" adds a percussive "TAK-TAK" to the "HUAYRA" chant. I kept this structure: "HUAYRA-HUAYRA-TAK-TAK-UKH!" The "UKH" is a guttural, final sound.

The Chorus: The Russian chorus is a series of untranslatable sound-puns. "Кружу — значусь" (I circle - I signify/am listed), "Стусь — значит кружу" (Stus’ is not a real word, but sounds like stuk - a knock/strike). A literal translation is impossible and meaningless. I opted for a conceptual translation that preserves the idea of the actions: "I circle—I signify, / I strike—I circle, / I circle—I tear..." This captures the cycle of creation, impact, and destruction described in the lines.

The Concrete Poetry Climax: The pun "коленом... колесо" (knee... wheel) is the biggest challenge. There is no equivalent in English. I had to find a different image that would fit the visual structure and the conceptual meaning. I chose the image of an axle, which is the center of a wheel, and the idea of the wheel "driving itself home."

"the / very / axle / up / on / which / the / wheel / drives / it / self / home..." This translation maintains the visual fragmentation and conveys the idea of a self-propelling, cyclical mechanism returning to its core, which then becomes the "heart" and "you." It's an interpretation, but one that aims to preserve the spirit and function of the original's mind-bending wordplay.

Voice and Tone: The tone is breathless, vertiginous, and cosmic. I used short, sharp lines and strong verbs ("cuts," "revolves," "soars") to create a sense of relentless, dizzying motion.

This translation is an attempt to build an equivalent ritual machine in English—one that pulls the reader into the same vortex of imagery and paradox, leaving them spinning in the center of a new, self-creating universe.

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Озвучку см. в "Избе-читальне"
See the audio recording in the "Izba-Reading Room"