Among the lovers of Karmen —
A motley crowd following her after
And calling her to go after,
Alone as the grey walls' shadow
Of the night tavern of the Lillias Pastia,
Looks gloomily he, keeps a silence,
Thus never waiting and demanding answer,
But when the tambourine starts jingling bell,
The wrists ring slightly —
He recollects the passed spring days,
While looking at her singing bodyshape
Among the highest music waves
And dreams of the creative way.
Среди поклонников Кармен,
Спешащих пестрою толпою,
Её зовущих за собою,
Один, как тень у серых стен
Ночной таверны Лиллас-Пастья,
Молчит и сумрачно глядит,
Не ждет, не требует участья,
Когда же бубен зазвучит
И глухо зазвенят запястья, —
Он вспоминает дни весны,
Он средь бушующих созвучий
Глядит на стан её певучий
И видит творческие сны.
«To rock a cradle this morning in May? / Proud neck in lasso, like some? / Distaff to jailbird, to herder — a shawn, / To me — a drum. Role of a woman's not dear to me: / I fear not wounds, but boredom. / Gives to me everything — honor and might — / This my drum. So many count...»
«Clear morning is not hot, lightly / You run through the meadow. / Down the Oka pulls a barge, / Very slow. Several words without willing / You are repeating still. / Somewhere in the field is ringing / Weakly the bell. Ring in the field? On the meadow? / Are they going to the prayer...»
«To melt all, that the people forget all, / Like a candle or molten snow? / Be a handful of dust in the future / Under cross of a grave? I say no! Every moment, from anguish concussing, / I return to the same once again: / Die forever! Did for this the fortune / Give me all things to und...»
«You walk, looking just like me, / Lowering your eyes. / I lowered them also! / Stop, passerby! Read - having gathered a bouquet / Of many flowers — / That my name was Marina / And how old I was. Don't think I'll appear with menace, / That a grave here is hidden... / I loved to la...»