Impossible almost, for you were always here:
In the shade of blessed limes,
in hospitals and bockades,
In the prison-cell, and where there were evil birds,
Lush grasses, and terrifying water.
How everything has changed, but you were always here,
And it seems to me that I have lost half my soul,
The half you were — in which I knew the reason why
Something important happened. Now I’ve forgotten...
But your clear voice is calling and it asks me not
To grieve, but wait for death
as for a miracle.
What can I do! I’ll try.
Почти не может быть, ведь ты была всегда:
В тени блаженных лип,
в блокаде и больнице,
В тюремной камере и там, где злые птицы,
И травы пышные, и страшная вода.
О, как менялось все, но ты была всегда,
И мнится, что души отъяли половину,
Ту, что была тобой, — в ней знала я причину
Чего-то главного. И все забыла вдруг...
Но звонкий голос твой зовет меня оттуда
И просит не грустить и смерти ждать,
как чуда.
Ну что ж! попробую.
«Those, born in the'times quiet and drear / Cannot recall their gloomy trail. / We, sons of desperate Russia's years, / Remember every fine detail. The years of hopes and despair, / Madness and terror! Some ruby sheen, / Of war and freedom bloody flare, / In our eyes is clearly s...»
«We'll be buried and modest grave mounds / Will be soon overgrown with grass, / Nothing but the remote vague sounds / Of the rains there above 'll bother us. No questions, no answers, we got 'em, / And awaken from lazy grave dream / We're aware, if 'tis quiet, then it's autumn, / ...»
«Why, pretty gal, are you hexing about / With eyes and shoulders, in turn? / Thus you'll excite even me, no doubt, / Though, I don't feel concern. Yet, for this dangerous game men stay ready, / Many you will captivate / Until you turn from a passionate lady / Into good ...»
«Snow-clad is the plain, and the moon is white / Covered with a shroud is my country side. / Birches dressed in white are crying, as I see. / Who is dead, I wonder? Is it really me?»