Thank you for everything. For the war,
For the revolution and exile.
For the indifferent bright country
Where we now ‘drag out our existence’.
There is no sweeter destiny than to lose everything.
There is no happier fate than to become a vagabond.
And you’ve never been closer to heaven
Than here, tired of boredom
Tired of breathing,
Without strength, without money,
Without love,
In Paris...
За все, за все спасибо. За войну,
За революцию и за изгнанье.
За равнодушно — светлую страну,
Где мы теперь "влачим существованье".
Нет доли сладостней — все потерять.
Нет радостней судьбы — скитальцем стать,
И никогда ты к небу не был ближе,
Чем здесь, устав скучать,
Устав дышать,
Без сил, без денег,
Без любви, в Париже...
«It’s time my friends, it’s time. We long for peace / of heart. But days chase days and every hour / gone by means one less hour to come. We live / our lives, dear friend, in hope of life, then die. / There is no happiness on earth, but peace / exists, and freedom too. Tired slave, I dr...»
«City of splendour, city of poor, / spirit of grace and servitude, / heaven’s vault of palest lime, / boredom, granite, bitter cold — / still I miss you rather, for / down your streets from time to time / one may spy a tiny foot, / one may glimpse a lock of gold.»
«Like a jester complaining of the cruel weight / of his hump – let me tell about my orphaned state. Behind the devil there’s his horde, behind the thief there’s his band, / behind everyone there’s someone to understand and support him – the assurance of a living wall / of thousands ...»
«What did they do / with the relatives of Christ? / What did they do with them? / No written source / will tell you a damned thing — / nothing but crossings out, emptiness. / What the hell did they do with them? What did they do / with those simple people, / simple craftsmen, men w...»