Moscow in a Foreign Tongue
- Geoffrey Clarfield
- Jul 29
- 4 min read
I once had the privilege of working in San Antonio, Texas. Texas is different. There are Texan clouds, a Texan sky and Texan landscapes that allow you to see for miles across the desert plains.
It is a vast country of tall people. I met many. I found their way of speaking engaging: a combination of Victorian politeness ("yes sir," "no sir") that can become abrupt and challenging when one offends or speaks with disrespect.
One day I rented a bike. I started at the fort, the Alamo in downtown San Antonio, and rode into the countryside along the mission route. I saw old Spanish colonial churches every few miles as the city disappeared, leaving me alone in the countryside. I felt like I was time travelling.
And so recently, I drew on that experience and wrote the melody and lyrics for the song "In Moscow in a Foreign Tongue," which evokes the Orpheus-like quest of a young man searching for his destiny. The journey begins in Texas and ends in Northern Quebec.
My remarkably talented nephew Zev Gitalis arranged and recorded this piece for me.
I am grateful and thank him.
I hope you enjoy this offering.
Words and Music ©2026 by Geoffrey Clarfield
Arranged and Recorded by Zev Gitalis
Moscow in a Foreign Tongue
I set out from San Antonio
I needed some air in my lungs
Destination New York City
Where I hear they speak in foreign tongues
I knelt, I poured some whisky
I looked at the saint and I prayed
Take care of Moma and Papa
I had best be on my way
Some say the quest was not worth it
Some said I was far too young
But a man dressed up like Gamblin Jack
Said, “Son this is your time to run”
He said the road is paved with fine intentions
On the left and on the right
He left me in that red desert
And soon he was out of sight
I stood beside that highway
I had eaten nothing
I was standing outside
A truck stopped by and took me
I said, “Gracias, thanks for the ride.”
He said he came from Old Oaxaca
His father’s last-born son
A descendant of Maximilian
That old French king whom they’d hung
He had all these Aztec idols
Spread across his dashboard
He said I hope you don’t mind
I am transporting somebody’s hoard
I said that I am just an actor
A poet on the run
I said I was once famous
In Moscow in a foreign tongue
We stopped for other wanderers
A singer called Sue
She played upon a small guitar
That she kept hidden beside her shoe
She sang about King Arthur
She said he was a fake
She said he never took a sword
From some Lady in a lake
I said, “Hello I am a poet”
I can write a song for you
I kissed her, she left abruptly
At a border town at noon
The driver recited epics
In Incan from Peru
I said Yo no comprendo
Anything you might say or do
We picked up an old hitchhiker
He said he was just passing through
He had been recently separated
From a girl with a guitar inside her shoe
When I inquired, he said I can’t help you
But I think I do recall
A gas jack said he had met her
Just before a deadly fall
She had been standing
On a bridge’s edge
In the desert oh so still
She had lamented
About a true love
Who once had kissed her
Against her will
He did continue his journey
He left us in Niagara Falls
Where he offered me a wooden cask
That would protect me from any and all
He asked me do you want it?
It just might get you to the other side
I answered I’m not much a swimmer
I prefer to take my chance with the tide
When we got to that northern border
The guards wore their hats so wide
Their jackets colored read
They were sharing swigs from a bottle nearby
Repeat melody once here:
They asked hey boy
Where are you going
You look so innocent and true
I said I am looking for a young girl
Who keeps a guitar beside her shoe
I heard she may have come this way
With a job in an old brass band
They were asking twenty-five cents
For every song that she sang
They played in all the speakeasies
You could hear them from a mile away
And you could hear the notes from her small guitar
At the Honky Tonks along the way
Once I had crossed that border
I continued my quest for Sue
A shaman climbed a ladder with silver rungs
He said, “I think I can bring her to you.”
He asked me, “Are you not that actor?”
That poet whose been on the run
I’ve been told that you were famous
In Moscow in a foreign tongue.”