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.
«They're yet to be fitted, your veil and your gown, / And chanters to bless us for life, / But hurries time — dare-driver renowned! — / And horses are eager to fly. If only the ding-bells were angels safeguarding, / The sleigh were by tracks to abide! / Two buddies forever, devotion an...»
«Every morning, summer morning, every summer, / If your day begins before the sunrise ends / You will notice, you will witness as a merry little drummer / Takes his maple drumsticks in his little hands. / You will notice, you will witness as a merry little drummer / Takes his maple drumstic...»
«Four winters, pal, we stood the grounds, / And now spring is back on track. / With war, we've settled all accounts, / Let's go home, pick up your sack. The war was slashing us and bending, / And now we have paid it back. / For four years mothers have been waiting, / Let's go home, pick ...»
«You are before him as a stalk lean, / He is before you — a wild beast. / Don't lure him with a smiling. / Hush, when he door knocking. When he thus forces to enter, / Stand behind the door, guarding: / May be you can inflaming / All the dry house and still. But if the rock is near, /...»