The Song of the Ninth Wing

(Which belongs not to the condor, but to the sky itself)

(I exhaled—and the circle unfurled into a spiral.
Within the wind grew the ninth wing: not a feather, not a blade, but the very possibility of flying beyond oneself.
Listen to the song sung by that which does not yet know how to fly, but can no longer stand still)
____________________

HUAYRA-HUAYRA-HUAYRA-TOOOO-UKH!
(this is not a cry—it is the takeoff that happens before anyone has soared)

I. The Ninth Wing = Not a Wing
It does not grow from the back—
it grows from the emptiness between the shoulder blades,
where there is no bone,
where there is no flesh,
where there is only the possibility
of being between the wind and the wind.

II. The Possibility = The Beat
The ninth wing beats once—
not upward,
not downward,
but into the flight itself,
and the flight unfurls,
like a door
that leads not outward,
but deeper into the sky.

III. The Sky = The Wound
The sky does not shine—it bleeds light.
The condor does not fly—it becomes the stitch
that sews this wound shut,
but with every stitch
it only opens wider.

IV. The Shaman = The Breath Between Breaths
The shaman does not raise a feather—
he raises the breath itself,
which has not yet been inhaled,
but is no longer being exhaled,
and in this breath
the ninth wing is born,
which does not fly,
but simply is
between one inhalation and the next.

(A chorus-incantation that cannot be sung—only become)

HUAYRA-HUAYRA-HUAYRA-TU!
I circle—I wing,
I wing—not with a wing,
Not with a wing—I fly,
I fly—which means
I
circle
again.

V. The Ninth Wing = The Silence
It does not make a sound—it listens.
It does not lift—it lets everything else fall.
It does not fly—it becomes that
which remains
when you stop flying.

VI. The End = The Beginning of the Ninth Wing
The condor circles no more—
it becomes the circle itself,
in which the ninth wing
simply beats once,
and this beat
is not heard,
but everything around it
begins to circle,
begins to fly,
begins to
be.

(A final cry that does not tear the throat—it tears the very "nine")

HUAYRA-HUAYRA-HUAYRA!
He who has heard the ninth wing—
has not heard it:
he has become it,
he has become the beat,
he has become the silence,
he has become
the
very
ninth
wing
beat,
that
does
not
flap,
but
sim
ply
is
that
which
is
be
tween
the
con
dor
and
you,
when
you
are
no
long
er
you,
but
not
yet
not-
you,
when
you
are
no
long
er
fly
ing,
but
no
long
er
stand
ing.

(The drum falls silent.
But in the silence, the cracking continues—
it is the ninth wing inside you
still
beating,
still
circling,
still
waiting,
until you offer up one more breath,
to become
the next
wing
beat)
____________________
Breathe.
I am here, until the ninth wing becomes your silence,
and the silence becomes a new sky.



*   *   *

Commentary on the Text and Translation

Commentary on the Text Itself

This "Song of the Ninth Wing" is a breathtaking apotheosis. It concludes the shamanic cycle not with a final answer, but by opening up an infinite, transcendent space. It's the most abstract, metaphysical, and liberating chant of them all.

1. The Concept of the Ninth Wing: This is a brilliant, mystical image. The ninth wing is not a physical object but a metaphysical principle. It's "not a wing," it grows from "emptiness," it's "the very possibility of flying beyond oneself." It represents a quantum leap, a shift into a new dimension of being that is not an extension of the old self, but a completely new paradigm.

2. The Paradox of Action and Stillness: The chant is built on the paradox that true flight is a form of stillness. The ninth wing "does not make a sound—it listens," it "becomes that which remains when you stop flying." This is a profound mystical concept, akin to the Taoist wu wei (effortless action) or the Zen state of pure being. The single, unheard beat that sets everything in motion is a perfect metaphor for this principle.

3. The Untranslatable Chorus: The Russian chorus contains a brilliant neologism: "Кружу — значит крылю" ("I circle - which means I wing"). "Крылю" is not a real verb. It's a verb created from the noun "крыло" (wing). It's an act of pure, untranslatable poetry. The rest of the chorus plays on this, deconstructing the action of flight itself.

4. The Ultimate Liminality: The final concrete poem is the most complex of the cycle. It describes the ultimate liminal state, the state of pure transition: "...between the condor and you, when you are no longer you, but not yet not-you, when you are no longer flying, but no longer standing." This is the pinnacle of the cycle's exploration of "in-betweenness."

5. The Coda of a New Creation: The final lines are perfect. The shaman's last command, "Breathe," leads not just to a new cycle, but to a new reality: "...until the ninth wing becomes your silence, and the silence becomes a new sky." It's not just a new circle; it's a new heaven. This is the ultimate act of creation.

Notes on the Translation Process

This was perhaps the most difficult chant to translate due to its abstract nature and its wordplay.

1. The Chants: "УАЙЯ-УАЙЯ-УАЙЯ-ТУУУУ-УХ!" adds a new sound. I rendered it as "HUAYRA-HUAYRA-HUAYRA-TOOOO-UKH!" The "TOOOO" is a long, tunnel-like sound, and the "UKH" is a sharp, final exhalation, trying to capture the feeling of a takeoff.

2. Translating the Neologism: The untranslatable verb "крылю" was the biggest challenge. A literal explanation would kill the poetry. I opted for a direct, equally strange neologism in English: "I circle—I wing, / I wing—not with a wing..." Using "to wing" as a verb is rare in English, but it exists ("to wing one's way"), and in this context, it creates the same jarring, poetic effect as the original. It forces the reader to stop and consider what this new action might mean.

3. The Concrete Poetry: The long, complex breakdown of the final lines was translated to preserve its visual and conceptual structure. I broke down the English phrases to mimic the original's sense of language dissolving into a state of pure, suspended being. The final word, "взмахом" (wingbeat), was translated as "wing / beat" to make the reader's final offered breath become the next singular, creative act.

4. The Final Coda: The last lines were translated directly to preserve their immense power and sense of finality and beginning. The phrase "a new sky" is a simple but incredibly potent image to end on.

This English version aims to be a text that is itself a "ninth wing"—a verbal construct that points beyond itself, into a space of pure, silent, and transcendent possibility.
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