There`s time when all is well and even fine,
But why it`s so you can`t explain,
Maybe by reason of the rain,
The proper summer rain.
The glimpse of a familiar face in crowd,
A stranger`s riant eyes,
Inside of which there runs the Garden Ring,
Inside of which there shines the Garden Ring
And summer thunderstorm.
I like to stroll along the Moscow streets,
But I can travel far and wide
And cover the Pacific`s paths,
The taiga, Arctic ice.
I`ll hoist my sails because the wind is fair,
With whom I don`t still know,
But if I feel homesick no matter where,
I `ll try and find a violet, I can swear,
And think of Moscow`s jaunts.
Бывает все на свете хорошо, —
В чем дело, сразу не поймешь, —
А просто летний дождь прошел,
Нормальный летний дождь.
Мелькнет в толпе знакомое лицо,
Веселые глаза,
А в них бежит Садовое кольцо,
А в них блестит Садовое кольцо,
И летняя гроза.
А я иду, шагаю по Москве,
И я пройти еще смогу
Соленый Тихий океан,
И тундру, и тайгу.
Над лодкой белый парус распущу,
Пока не знаю, с кем,
Но если я по дому загрущу,
Под снегом я фиалку отыщу
И вспомню о Москве.
«To Love, — to leave, — with the thunder not ceasing, / Trampled by boredom not even knowing the boot’s tread, / Tripping over a hedgehog, and then, for good, repaying / The cowberry’s evil with a gossamer’s web. To drink from the bough while the face / Recoils from Prussian blue l...»
«Bursting himself through bushes, as if from the snare / Of Margarete’s tight hot lips of purple, / While the whites of her eyes stared, / Curled, flicked, grew firm, shone like a nightingale. It was like the smell from grass. Like mercury / Hanging in the mad rain between bird-cherry tree...»
«A swarm of dust starting from the horizon / And pouring out across Sunday, everywhere, / Like a shower breaking through a bedroom window, / Did not yet reach the house. It propelled everything towards the dinner hour / While the third rain was occurring, / Like a whirlpool flinging a bicy...»
«O childhood! Scoop ladle of heart’s profundity! / O native groves and forests where / Confidence in self was firmly planted, / My inspirer, my overseer! What tears have dried themselves on window panes! / What wasps devoured the festering roses! / How often chaotic turmoil fades away / ...»