It is as if my friends are marching
And I along with them, in time,
Through many different streets they're passing,
Those nearest, dearest friends of mine.
They are not those with whom I started
And learned my letters, in my place,
Nor those with whom I shaved moustaches
Still scarcely noticed on the face.
We have not drunk our tea together,
Divided bread in equal shares.
Quite unaware of my existence,
They go about their own affairs.
And yet the time will come when fortune
Will bring us side by side in war.
We'll tear a corner from a letter
To roll the cigarette we share.
And we shall use an empty food-can
To scoop up water for a friend
And wrap a spare puttee around him
To help his wounded leg to mend.
By Konigsberg, one early morning,
We both shall fall, two wounded men,
And then a month in hospital,
And we'll survive, and back again.
The sacred hot offensive frenzy,
The bitter, brutal toil of war
Will bind as one our generation —
An iron knot for evermore.
Как будто мы уже в походе,
Военным шагом, как и я,
По многим улицам проходят
Мои ближайшие друзья;
Не те, с которыми зубрили
За партой первые азы,
Не те, с которыми мы брили
Едва заметные усы.
Мы с ними не пивали чая,
Хлеб не делили пополам,
Они, меня не замечая,
Идут по собственным делам.
Но будет день — и по разверстке
В окоп мы рядом попадем,
Поделим хлеб и на завертку
Углы от писем оторвем.
Пустой консервною жестянкой
Воды для друга зачерпнем
И запасной его портянкой
Больную ногу подвернем.
Под Кенигсбергом на рассвете
Мы будем ранены вдвоем,
Отбудем месяц в лазарете,
И выживем, и в бой пойдем.
Святая ярость наступленья,
Боев жестокая страда
Завяжут наше поколенье
В железный узел, навсегда.
«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 ...»
«Once there lived a soldier-boy, / quite brave, one can’t be braver, / but he was merely a toy / for he was made of paper. / / He wished to alter everything, / and be the whole world’s helper, / but he was puppet on a string, / a soldier made of paper. / / He’d bravely go ...»
«Sound of trumpet over cities / made us weak, as tired as dogs, / we were on the run like sprinters, / and we hit the ground like rocks. / / Just a set of keys and buttons, / valves, the beauty of the brass; / the explosion, like white cotton, / seems to be quite safe to us. / / ...»
«To G. V. Darkness has covered the room an’ / it’s quiet and still as can be. / Good heavens! Your Majesty Woman, / you really want to see me? / / Lighting is muddy in here, / the walls have a leakage trace... / Your Majesty Woman! Oh dear! / How did you get to this place? / ...»