This will happen, happen,
no way of avoiding this:
the birds will shrill above the town,
orchestras will play,
the air will grow more limpid,
the guns’ thud will be forgotten,
and the army of the frontier
will march home singing.
This will happen, happen —
I believe they’ll smelt the armor...
Don’t forget to learn
from this essential day...
Это случится, случится,
этого не миновать:
вскрикнут над городом птицы,
будут оркестры играть.
Станет прозрачнее воздух,
пушек забудется гам,
и пограничное войско
с песней уйдет по домам.
Кровь и военная служба
сгинут навеки во мгле.
Вот уж воистину дружба
будет царить на земле.
Это случится, случится.
В домнах расплавят броню.
Не забывайте учиться
этому нужному дню.
«That same page overflowed with ink / Is always opening to me. I will go / Away from people, but whither, whither / Can I hide myself from the nights? All the living have become so distant. / All non-existence has become so distinct. / And forgotten lines have flowed together / Before da...»
«(In Simferopol in Summer) The stones faint with lassitude, / People are drenched with light; / Is there a sight more disgustingly / Familiar than a city’s in summer? In its ready-made stencil it / Is a pattern on crockery... / And is it not all the same to you / Whether stones are th...»
«Now at last the blue-gray cover is / Ripped open-it certainly cannot / Always hang idly, and with a clang a / Cold net has lashed the asphalt city... Lashed and begun to swing... / Itself silvery bright, it has / Spilled on the brocades around like / Holy oil in a sacrilegist’s hand. ...»
«I am miserable. I can’t bear / It. I hear a blind man’s steps: / Above me all night long he / Stumbles about on the roof. And I do not know if these are / My tears that axe burning my / Heart, or are those which the / Blind man sheds without reply. Which flow from his dull eyes / ...»