Fic: The Odyssey, xix. kolokol
--
“Zere is a story
in a film
a boy’s willage,
dead from disease.
The boy’s father
a bell maker
of wide renown
The prince there seeks
his agents take
the boy who says
he can make bells
with father’s keys
who gave to him
before he died
the secret to
bell’s ringing peak.
The kolokol
needs people, clay,
needs pits dug wide,
needs furnace made.
The boy nineteen
and craftsmen, they
build, cast,
pour molten alloy
silver, bronze,
crack open mold,
clean, scour, polish,
hoist up the bell
for judgement from
the tyrant prince--
The bell rings pure.
The boy, he cries.
His father never
gave him keys;
he built the bell
flying blind,
risking his life
and craftsman’s lease.
the bell, if failed,
would spell the sound
of all their deaths
deficiencies
unforgiven
metal bound
silver mixed
impurities.
I am nineteen.
I know the sound
of warp core engines;
the hum they make.
I do not know
how to make them.
I do not know
all the relays.
Scotty and Keenser
they were gone.
The engine groaned
I pulled the brake;
Keptan asked me
to patch a fix,
to keep us flying,
to keep awake.
I tried ewerything
and realigned
the engine, she
gave all she had;
If we were not
attacked in warp,
we would haf reached
our home launch pad.
Sometimes you give
more than your all.
It fails.
There is nothing you
can say to that
except face falling,
burning up,
listen for death,
acknowledge that
you risked it all
for moment’s sound
of kolokol
giving life’s years.
When engine failed
I somehow found
the Keptan, Scotty,
hanging in air.
I pulled--
I don’t know how--
I pulled them up;
I remember fear.
I remember terrifying fear.
It gave me strength
to do what I
could never do
as I appear.
The last fall up,
Keptan, he found
one more thing
to give to bells.
He climbed the tower,
took the tongue,
realigned,
and made it knell.
I lived again
to hear the hum;
he died without
telling to me
the secret of
the silver drum.
For that, I cried.
For that, I weep.”
--
Колокол (46:23)
“Zere is a story
in a film
a boy’s willage,
dead from disease.
The boy’s father
a bell maker
of wide renown
The prince there seeks
his agents take
the boy who says
he can make bells
with father’s keys
who gave to him
before he died
the secret to
bell’s ringing peak.
The kolokol
needs people, clay,
needs pits dug wide,
needs furnace made.
The boy nineteen
and craftsmen, they
build, cast,
pour molten alloy
silver, bronze,
crack open mold,
clean, scour, polish,
hoist up the bell
for judgement from
the tyrant prince--
The bell rings pure.
The boy, he cries.
His father never
gave him keys;
he built the bell
flying blind,
risking his life
and craftsman’s lease.
the bell, if failed,
would spell the sound
of all their deaths
deficiencies
unforgiven
metal bound
silver mixed
impurities.
I am nineteen.
I know the sound
of warp core engines;
the hum they make.
I do not know
how to make them.
I do not know
all the relays.
Scotty and Keenser
they were gone.
The engine groaned
I pulled the brake;
Keptan asked me
to patch a fix,
to keep us flying,
to keep awake.
I tried ewerything
and realigned
the engine, she
gave all she had;
If we were not
attacked in warp,
we would haf reached
our home launch pad.
Sometimes you give
more than your all.
It fails.
There is nothing you
can say to that
except face falling,
burning up,
listen for death,
acknowledge that
you risked it all
for moment’s sound
of kolokol
giving life’s years.
When engine failed
I somehow found
the Keptan, Scotty,
hanging in air.
I pulled--
I don’t know how--
I pulled them up;
I remember fear.
I remember terrifying fear.
It gave me strength
to do what I
could never do
as I appear.
The last fall up,
Keptan, he found
one more thing
to give to bells.
He climbed the tower,
took the tongue,
realigned,
and made it knell.
I lived again
to hear the hum;
he died without
telling to me
the secret of
the silver drum.
For that, I cried.
For that, I weep.”
--
Колокол (46:23)