Lasting winters, summertime — they shall never flow together:
They have different traditions; they don’t look the same at all.
For a reason life has paved two long roads: this one, that one,
That one gets your feet exhausted, this one agitates your soul.
Woman in a window frame, in a shade of rosy color,
Says that tears of separation are impossible to heal,
For ahead of her, again, are two roads: this one, that one,
That one beautiful but fruitless, this one probably for real.
Bang your head against a brick — there will be no truer answer,
And no matter if our passions lead to happiness or loss,
All the same, we face ahead two old roads: this one, that one,
And forever we shall need them, like we need our sky and earth.
Не сольются никогда зимы долгие и лета:
У них разные привычки и совсем несхожий вид.
Не случайны на земле две дороги — та и эта,
Та натруживает ноги, эта душу бередит.
Эта женщина в окне в платье розового цвета
Утверждает, что в разлуке невозможно жить без слез,
Потому что перед ней две дороги — та и эта,
Та прекрасна, но напрасна, эта, видимо, всерьез.
Хоть разбейся, хоть умри — не найти верней ответа,
И куда бы наши страсти нас с тобой не завели,
Неизменно впереди две дороги — та и эта,
Без которых невозможно, как без неба и земли.
«Among the priests a young Levite / As morning sentinel for long remained / Judean night grew denser over him, / A ruined temple stood in bitter pain. He spoke: The yellow of the sky is menace / Run, Jews, over Euphrates it is night. / And old men thought: We should not take the blame here...»
«1 A river of golden honey from the bottle was pouring / So long and so thick that the hostess had time to speak: / "To this sad Taurides, where life does not get boring, / We jouneyed through fortune" — and looked over the neck. 2 There are Bacchus's services everywhere, as if in the whol...»
«The wooden organ did not roar this evening. / The cradle song of Schubert to us sang / The windmill blew and in the hurricane's singing / Laughing blue-eyed intoxication rang. The world of ancient song is green and brown, / The world of ancient song, young for all age, / Where nightingale...»
«Your fabulous enunciation — / Hot whistling of a bird of prey, / Create a true representation / Of silken eyelids, I dare say. "What" — and the head has fallen / "Why" — I am asking you / And far away the leaves are calling: / We live upon this planet too. So let them say that...»