I, who have traveled half my earthly road,
make my appearance in the Luxembourg
and contemplate the petrified gray curls
of thinkers and of scribblers. Gents and broads
are strolling to and fro ; a whiskered
blue copper glistens from the thicket ;
the fountain purrs, the children laugh
and not a soul to greet with “Bugger off”.
And you, untiring, Mary, stand and stand,
in the stone garland of your girl-friends –stunned
French queens of once-upon-has-been,
in silence, with a sparrow in your hair.
You’d think the garden was a cross between
The Pantheon and Déjeuner sur l’herbe.
Земной свой путь пройдя до середины,
я, заявившись в Люксембургский сад,
смотрю на затвердевшие седины
мыслителей, письменников; и взад-
вперед гуляют дамы, господины,
жандарм синеет в зелени, усат,
фонтан мурлычит, дети голосят,
и обратиться не к кому с «иди на».
И ты, Мари, не покладая рук,
стоишь в гирлянде каменных подруг —
французских королев во время оно —
безмолвно, с воробьем на голове.
Сад выглядит, как помесь Пантеона
со знаменитой «Завтрак на траве».
«Taras, in the tale / Gogol tells us, was tough... / No quarter he gave / Foe or traitor. / I hear him call / At midnight to his son, / “The child of my loins, I shall slay thee!” The beautiful pani, / Andrii’s fateful love, / Pale-faced, old Taras implores mutely... / The pi...»
«Our rifles at the ready, / Bayonets gleaming with blue light, / As we rode a star peeped shyly / Through the darkness of the night. Our horses walked on slowly, / Bridles lay slack in our grip, / “Mercury that star is named,” / Pensively I let the word slip. When the fight is in th...»
«The street-cars at midnight / Are quiet in the street, / The law-abiding people / Are all fast asleep. / Midnight near the balcony / The branches is stirring, / Quiet is Arithmetic / And Algebra’s snoring. Midnight has arisen / O’er the Soviet Union. / Side by side with angles...»
«It’s nice, if a bit slow, / This city of Rostov. / Main streets here bear the names / Of soldiers of great fame. / So restless, day and night / Its Garden Street’s packed tight. / But sidestreets stand quite still / With sound of poetry filled, / And that was why I thought / Th...»