For misfortune or for luck
There is a simple thing
That is never coming back
To where you`ve ever been.
Even if the old day ashes
Is as used to be
Searching is another crashes
As for you and me.
Backward traveling for others
I would forbid in whole
I ask you as if a brother
Don`t stir up my soul.
Otherwise I`ll disappear
Who won`t let me drive
On my felt boots to the year
Of nineteen forty five?
In this year I am hopeful
That there will be, my God,
My mother looking youthful
And my still living dad.
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.
«A phantom roams through the house. / There are footsteps in upstairs rooms. / All day, shades flit through the attic. / Through the house a goblin roams. He loafs about, gets in the way, / He interferes and causes trouble, / Creeps up to the bed in a dressing gown, / And pulls the cloth...»
«I am no more the ardent lover / Who caused the world such vast amaze: / My spring is past, my summer over, / And dead the fires of other days. / Oh, Eros, god of youth! your servant / Was loyal — that you will avow. / Could I be born again this moment, / Ah, with what zest I'd serve ...»
«Not long we basked in the illusion / Of love, of hope, of quiet fame; / Like morning mists, a dream's delusion, / Youth's pastimes vanished as they came. / But still, with strong desires burning, / Beneath oppression's fateful hand, / The summons of the fatherland / We are impatiently ...»
«From Aesculapius escaping, / I'm lean and shaven, but alive; / His cruel paw no more torments me, / And there is hope that I may thrive. / Now health, the light friend of Priapus, / And sleep, are entering my door, / And in my plain and crowded corner / Repose becomes my guest once mor...»