The music of the soul is flat,
the music of attack is loud;
but make no haste about that,
you may be wrong in making out
that music of attack is loud,
and music of the soul is flat.
The louder is the attack,
the sweeter are the lights around;
and that’s the way it was, in fact,
when I was wandering about:
the sweeter are the lights around,
the louder is the attack.
It’s been believed for ages long,
and up to now it’s true as ever:
the louder’s the winner’s song
the bitterer’s the loss and favor
for up to now it’s true as ever
what’s been believed for ages long.
We think it runs in our blood
it’s not what we have learned or borrowed
the purer’s the tune of love
the louder’s the tune of sorrow;
the louder’s the tune of sorrow
the higher is the tune of love.
Все глуше музыка души,
все звонче музыка атаки.
Но ты об этом не спеши:
не обмануться бы во мраке,
что звонче музыка атаки,
что глуше музыка души.
Чем громче музыка атак,
тем слаще мед огней домашних,
и это было только так
в моих скитаниях вчерашних:
тем слаще мед огней домашних,
чем громче музыка атак.
Из глубины ушедших лет
еще вернее, чем когда-то —
чем громче музыка побед,
тем горше каждая утрата,
еще вернее, чем когда-то,
из глубины ушедших лет.
И это все у нас в крови,
хоть этому не обучали:
чем чище музыка любви,
тем громче музыка печали,
чем громче музыка печали,
тем выше музыка любви.
«I heard a voice, within me, call / Consolingly: "Come here. Come here. / Leave Russia, leave your sinful, / Godforsaken land, forever. / I shall wash your hands of blood, / I’ll purge your heart of shame. / The pain of insult and defeat / I’ll call by another name." I took no noti...»
«I am not one those who left the land / to the mercy of its enemies. / Their flattery leaves me cold, / my songs are not for them to praise. But I pity the exile’s lot / Like a felon, like a man half-dead, / dark is your path, wanderer; / wormwood infects your foreign bread. But here,...»
«Railing of iron, / A pinewood bed, / How good that I / Need no longer be jealous. This bed of mine is made / With sobbing and with pleading: / Now wander where you want — / And good luck to you! The violence of words / No more assaults your hearing. / There’s no one now to burn...»
«And slander everywhere attended me. / Reptilelike it shuffled through my sleep / And through the dead town, under a murderous sky, / At random seeking food and shelter. Each man’s eye / Flickered with the light of slander, / Now signifying treachery, now innocent fear. / I’m not afra...»