The threshing barn is stifling and hot,
I laugh, but in my heart, I weep from spite.
My old friend mumbles to me: “Jinx it not,
Can’t you discern that luck is on our side!”
I listen to my old friend’s words with doubt.
He’s lost his sight, he’s ludicrous and vile.
He spent his whole life trampling the ground
Of long and dreary trails in denial.
My fragile voice is crying out with sorrow,
The ringing voice of those who knew no better:
“Our knapsacks are all emptied and tomorrow
Just promises more hunger and foul weather!”
Под навесом тёмной риги жарко,
Я смеюсь, а в сердце злобно плачу.
Старый друг бормочет мне: «Не каркай!
Мы ль не встретим на пути удачу!»
Но я другу старому не верю.
Он смешной, незрячий и убогий,
Он всю жизнь свою шагами мерил
Длинные и скучные дороги.
И звенит, звенит мой голос ломкий,
Звонкий голос не узнавших счастья:
«Ах, пусты дорожные котомки,
А на завтра голод и ненастье!»
«Hard and marvelous — loyalty till the coffin! / Tsar-like luxury in squares' time! / Firm are the souls and ribs are firm likewise / Where are you, people of days gone by? With ash equating altar and the throne, / Like a red-haired Tatar the freedom prowls. / Over the ashtrays at the t...»
«O, pitiful exertions of usurpers! / Like sleep, like snow, like death, to all — a shrine. / A ban on Kremlin! There's no ban on wings, and / Therefore — there is no ban upon Kremlin.»
«Either soldiers drove into the ground a stake, / Either they covered a face with a red rag, / Either deaf and dumb from punches is the Divine, / Either on Easter they were banned from Kremlin — Old revelers should sit at the linen, / Birds should crawl, fish should sing, women — reason...»
«Like blood and sweat it is simple: / To people — tsar, to tsar — people. Like mystery of two it is clear: / The third is the spirit, the two are near. From the sky tsar is placed on the throne: / That is clear like dream and snow. To the throne tsar will come again yet: / It is holy ...»