Последний троллейбус

The Last Trolleybus
KENNETH E. HALL         July 14. 2018            HOUSTON

Последний троллейбус

The Last Trolleybus of the Night

It was late at night in San Francisco. I walked the deserted streets thinking, but really trying hard not to think at all. I put one foot in front of the other, and walked - but really got nowhere.
The streets were glistening in the fog, and above them them was the glint of street lights on the copper wire of the trolley line. I saw a pair of headlights coming down the boulevard towards me - and i was on the corner. I caught a chill - why didn't I bring my coat? I wondered.

A trolleybus came to a stop right by me.
"Please open your doors" I thought to myself, and suddenly the doors opened to let someone out.
I got on and inside i knew it would be warm. Where was I going? I really did not care. I was
When you're running from trouble, you really con't care where you go - and when you're running from yourself, there is no place to hide. 

The electric motor whined to a start, and we jerked forward to the next stop. These others in the trolleybus with me, they were a motley bunch - wretched refuse of the night - like me - and like me, they, too came in from the midnight cold.
Gliding noiselessly down Van Ness Boulevard, these fellow travelers almost became friends - though we never spoke a word, and hardly looked at each other. We were all victims in the night. What a wreck I was - tired and in pain, but as the last trolleybus - my midnight rescue boat - approached California Street, I felt my pain disappear.

As the cable car tracks came into sight, I could see my hotel towering high up into the fog - glowing an incandescent white. I stepped out into the cold and damp - and bade a fond wordless farewell to those others who had a long way to go.
The last thing I saw were the electric blue sparks the trolleys made in the overhead wire - splitting the night. My ride was over - now I only had to cross the street.

While walking down the street shivering, I was listening to music on my cell. This song came up, and I could feel the loneliness, the sadness of it, and whenever I hear it, I think of a foggy night - not in Moscow - but in San Francisco. This is a Russian song, and trolleybuses are common there, and so is sadness. As far as I know, this is the only song written about a trolleybus.

Последний троллейбус

Когда мне невмочь пересилить беду,
Когда подступает отчаянье,
Я в синий троллейбус сажусь на ходу,
В последний, в случайный.

Последний троллейбус, по улицам мчи,
Верши по бульварам круженье,
Чтоб всех подобрать, потерпевших в ночи
Крушенье, крушенье.

Последний троллейбус, мне дверь отвори!
Я знаю, как в зябкую полночь 
Твои пассажиры, матросы твои 
Приходят на помощь. 

Я с ними не раз уходил из беды,
Я к ним прикасался плечами...
Как много, представьте себе, доброты
В молчанье, молчанье.

Последний троллейбус плывет по Москве,
Москва, как река, затухает,
И боль, что скворчонком стучала в виске,
Стихает, стихает.





When I can not overcome trouble,
When despair comes,
I'm in the blue trolley bus on the run,
And at last it matters not which line.

The last trolleybus of the day, glides along the city streets
Making its rounds of the wide boulevards,
To pick up us all, all victims in the night.
What wrecks we all are! What wrecks!

The last trolleybus, open the door for me!
I know that, as it's a chilly midnight
Your passengers, your sailors
They will come to my rescue.

I, with them time and again have fled from whatever trouble,
I touched them with my shoulders ...
How much, imagined kindness
In silence, only silence.

The last trolleybus sails across Moscow,
Moscow, like a river, fades away,
And the pain that screeches and clatters on my temples,
It dies down, it, too fades away

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XuwNqu8XM4k