All along the Smolensk Road trees rise and rise and rise.
All along the Smolensk Road posts stand mid trees, mid trees.
Just above the Smolensk Road I think those are your eyes:
Two cold evening stars, my two blue destinies.
All along the Smolensk Road the snow slaps face, slaps face.
We are driven from homes because work can't wait, can't wait.
But had there been more force in the pull of your embrace,
A shorter road might have conveyed me through the night.
All along the Smolensk Road trees rise and rise and rise.
All along the Smolensk Road posts hum till dawn, till dawn.
Just above the Smolensk Road I think those are your eyes:
Two cold evening stars, two blue stars look down, look down.
Ж. Б.
По Смоленской дороге — леса, леса, леса.
По Смоленской дороге — столбы, столбы, столбы.
Над Смоленской дорогою, как твои глаза, —
две вечерних звезды — голубых моих судьбы.
По Смоленской дороге — метель в лицо, в лицо,
все нас из дому гонят дела, дела, дела.
Может, будь понадежнее рук твоих кольцо —
покороче б, наверно, дорога мне легла.
По Смоленской дороге — леса, леса, леса.
По Смоленской дороге — столбы гудят, гудят.
На дорогу Смоленскую, как твои глаза,
две холодных звезды голубых глядят, глядят.
«We suffer equally this parting: / It is dark, and it is lasting. / Why weep? Give me your hand / Promise to come again in dreamland. / You and I are like grief upon dearest grief… / In this world, for us, there can be no meeting. / Just send me in the small hours, / via the stars, / ...»
«I hear caterwauling somewhere, / Distant footfalls echo in the night. / A fine lullaby to me you left! / The third month, this, since last I slept. You're with me once again, insomnia, / Your iron face closer than anything; / Beauty, lawless beauty that you are, / Really, don't you like...»
«My Sister, my Muse, looked into my face, / her glance both sharp and clear; / and she took away my golden ring, / Spring's first present of the year. / O Muse! You can see how happy they are, / the girls, the women and widows... / I would rather be broken on the wheel / than carry thes...»
«Some spend the time exchanging fond glances, / others drink on till the first rays of sun; / all night I’m making retreats and advances, / conscience and I in a battle not won. I say, “How long have I carried your yoke, / a dead weight on my back all those years!” / But conscience h...»