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.
«To fall ill as one should, deliriously / Hot, meet everyone again, / To stroll broad avenues in the seashore garden / Full of the wind and the sun. / / Even the dead, today, have agreed to come, / And the exiles, into my house. / Lead the child to me by the hand. / Long I have misse...»
«Behind the lake the moon’s not stirred / And seems to be a window through / Into a silent, well-lit house, / Where something unpleasant has occurred. / / Has the master been brought home dead, / The mistress run off with a lover, / Or has a little girl gone missing, / And her shoe...»
«A man met Rachel, in a valley. Jacob Bowed courteously, this wanderer far from home. Flocks, raising the hot dust, could not slake their Thirst. The well was blocked with a huge stone. Jacob wrenched the stone from the well Of pure water, and the flocks drank their fill. But the heart in h...»
«And the just man trailed God’s messenger, / His huge, light shape devoured the black hill. / But uneasiness shadowed his wife and spoke to her: / ‘it’s not too late, you can look back still / / At the red towers of Sodom, the place that bore you, / The square in which you sang, th...»