All rules are incorrect,
all laws remain perverse,
until they’re firmly set
in well wrought lines of verse.
An age or era will
be merely a stretch of time
without a meaning until
it’s glorified in rhyme.
Until the poet’s «Yes!»,
entrusted by his pen
to print, award success
to this or that — till then
the jury will be out,
the verdict still in doubt.
Все правила — неправильны,
Законы — незаконны,
Пока в стихи не вправлены
И в ямбы — не закованы.
Период станет эрой.
Столетье — веком будет,
Когда его поэмой
Прославят и рассудят.
Пока на лист не ляжет
«Добро!» поэта,
Пока поэт не скажет,
Что он — за это,
До этих пор — не кончен спор.
«One by one we all are now departing / For realms where silence and beatitude abide. / And I as well, perhaps, will soon be starting / To pack my bag and baggage for the ride. Dear groves of oak and birches so resplendent, / And you, O earth! You too, sand-laden plains! / In parting with t...»
«That unsaid, that such blue and such tender... / My land's silent all after the storm. / And my soul, as field, all without ends, / Breathes with smell of honey and roses. I have ceased. Years did their business, / But I don't curse all, that have been. / As if troika had raced, being cra...»
«I'm fond of the old speech. / There's a charm in the ancient words. / Compared to the nowaday's one, it / could be much more sharp and modern. And to exclaim:"The half of empire for horse!" — / What's the irascibility and generosity! / But the futility of my last force / Will bless me...»
«Suspecting not yours, but a prompted reply, / A silent forbiddance I’ve read in your eye, / But still! O how more understandably speaks / This genuine and elegant blush of the cheeks. This call of the flowers that sweetly pervades, / This languid approach of the vespertine shades, / Thi...»