There a man burned
Fet
How difficult to wander in the crowd
Pretending every day to be alive,
Recounting to the not-yet-living
The passions' tragic play.
And, peering into nightmares,
Find order in disordered swirls of feeling,
So that by art's anemic glow
They recognize life's fatal fire.
Там человек сгорел.
Фет
Как тяжело ходить среди людей
И притворяться непогибшим,
И об игре трагической страстей
Повествовать ещё не жившим.
И, вглядываясь в свой ночной кошмар,
Строй находить в нестройном вихре чувства,
Чтобы по бледным заревам искусства
Узнали жизни гибельной пожар!
«You’re like a temple, tall and white. / You’re pure and bright like virgin snow, / I don’t believe this lengthy night / And hopeless evenings, full of woe. My soul, itself, is desecrated, / And I won’t trust it anymore. / Perhaps, a traveler belated, — / I’ll knock against y...»
«I’ll never forget it (did it happen or not, / This evening): The setting sun’s blaze / Drew open the sky and burned it, red hot, / And the streetlamps shone — in its rays. / I sat by the window and leaned on the pane. / Distant bows sang something of love. / I sent you a black rose...»
«There, a man burned. / Fet Among the crowds, it’s becoming harder / To act undead, when life is make-believe, / And to relate tragic play of ardor / To all of those who’ve yet to really live. And to inspect your nightmares and aspire / For order in the vortex of the heart, / So tha...»
«I while away my life in stride, / It’s senseless to me and redundant: / Today, I’m soberly — triumphant, / Tomorrow, I will — sing and cry. What if my death is getting nearer? / What if, behind me, stands a man, / Who, reaching with his massive hand, / Will block the image in t...»