Be it fortune or misfortune
Trust the simple truth:
Never go back home in search of
our departed youth.
Cindered ruins have been cleared
And the place restored.
Yet, we won't discover there
What we are looking for.
Trips to yesteryear, oh brother,
I would forbid to all.
I am pleading: do not bother,
Don't stir up my soul.
For I will rush away from here —
And who will bring me back?
On my sled, back to that year —
Chasing old snow tracks.
I will find my way to where
In nineteen forty-five
Mom — so young! — is standing near
Father, still alive.
По несчастью или к счастью,
Истина проста:
Никогда не возвращайся
В прежние места.
Даже если пепелище
Выглядит вполне,
Не найти того, что ищем,
Ни тебе, ни мне.
Путешествие в обратно
Я бы запретил,
Я прошу тебя, как брата,
Душу не мути.
А не то рвану по следу —
Кто меня вернет? —
И на валенках уеду
В сорок пятый год.
В сорок пятом угадаю,
Там, где — боже мой! —
Будет мама молодая
И отец живой.
«All transient regimes that crumbled / All fleeting rules that were effaced / Have not disturbed Ravenna's slumber, / Lulled in eternity's embrace. The toiling slaves no longer carry / Mosaics through the Roman gates. / And glowing sunset colors tarry / On tall cathedrals' golden plates....»
«Far off at sea the sails were roving. / Oblivious to the heat, plane-trees / Unfolded their flowers slowly / And lost them to November breezes. I n the old park the branches crowded / Over a bench with whitewashed planes; / The smell of grapes seemed like a cloud / Embracing Georgian wo...»
«Today has not yet come, / And yesterday has melted. / The morning's face is wan: / An actress with no make-up. Her eyelids puffed, the dawn / Is creeping, nude and moody, / And with a weary yawn / Sinks into daily duties... Wise mornings have no haste: / The day is barely shaping, / ...»
«In the evenings, the sultry air above the restaurants / is both wild and torpid, / and drunken vociferations are governed / by the evil spirit of spring. In the dusty vista of lanes / where reigns the suburban tedium of clapboard villas / the gilt sign of a bakery — a giant pretzel — ...»