One day in foggy October
I walked recollecting a song,
(The instance of kissing all over!
Caresses that cannot be wrong!)
At last in the foggy October
There came the forgotten song.
I dreamed I was young and not worried,
And you were as live as a bloom...
My dream took me out and carried
Away from the wind, rain and gloom...
(That's how by our dreams we are scurried...
So will you come back, live as a bloom?)
And then, emerging from darkness,
A staggering youth, comes to me.
(Oh what an amazing likeness
To someone I happened to see!)
Emerging from foggy darkness,
A staggering youth, comes to me.
«I'm tired of roaming — he grouses —
And taking the air, so cold,
Reflecting in mirrors of others
And kissing those girls, young and old...»
I fancied that some day or other
I'd meet him again in this world...
Then, smiling with self assertion,
He vanished for ever more...
Sad image...I had the impression
That I had seen it before...
Perchance it was me whom I saw
Turn up as a mirror reflection?
Однажды в октябрьском тумане
Я брел, вспоминая напев.
(О, миг непродажных лобзаний!
О, ласки некупленных дев!)
И вот - в непроглядном тумане
Возник позабытый напев.
И стала мне молодость сниться,
И ты, как живая, и ты...
И стал я мечтой уноситься
От ветра, дождя, темноты...
(Так ранняя молодость снится.
А ты-то, вернешься ли ты?)
Вдруг вижу — из ночи туманной,
Шатаясь, подходит ко мне
Стареющий юноша (странно,
Не снился ли мне он во сне?),
Выходит из ночи туманной
И прямо подходит ко мне.
И шепчет: «Устал я шататься,
Промозглым туманом дышать,
В чужих зеркалах отражаться
И женщин чужих целовать...»
И стало мне странным казаться,
Что я его встречу опять...
Вдруг — от улыбнулся нахально,
И нет близ меня никого...
Знаком этот образ печальный,
И где-то я видел его...
Быть может, себя самого
Я встретил на глади зеркальной?
«Not my mother, but a Tula peasant, / Eléna Kúzina, fed me her breast. / She warmed my swaddling-clothes above the stove, / and with her cross at night my dreams were blessed. She knew no fairy tales and never sang: / but always kept as treats for me instead / inside her treasured w...»
«The heat was unbearable. The forests were burning. / Time passed languorously. At the neighboring dacha / A cock was crowing. I went outside the gate. / There, leaning upon the fence, an itinerant Serb, / Rail-thin and dark, was snoozing on the bench. / A heavy silver cross hung suspended ...»
«Halfway through life’s journey I, I, I. What a wild, elusive word! / Is that man over there really me? / Did mama really love someone like that? / With a pasty yellow face, half grey hair, / And all-knowing, like a snake? The boy who danced at parties / At summer houses in Ostankino ...»
«There is nothing else as fine and free / as to break up for good with a beloved her / and leave the railroad station all alone. / And then in front of you entirely new / the palaces of Venice would reappear. / You linger on the stairs and then go to / take a gondola. As you approach Rial...»