Konstantin Simonov
- The lieutenant, by Lubov Yakovleva
(For a hundred days grenades have been piercing...) - The Lieutenant, by Mike Munford
(For three long months continues the bombardment...)
«Yearning for homeland! Long / Exposed torment! / It’s completely all the same to me – / Where completely alone To be, over which stones to trudge / With a market tote, on the way home, / Into a house that doesn’t know – it’s mine, / As if it were an infirmary, a barracks. Itâ...»
«Wi a jaup the darg-day map’s owre-pentit – / I jibbled colour frae a tea-gless; / Ashets o jellyteen presentit / To me the gret sea’s camshach cheek-bleds. / A tin fish, ilka scale a mou – / I’ve read the cries o a new warld through’t. / But you / Wi denty thrapple / Can ...»
«A pale moon, on the wane, / The air sonorous, dead and clear, / And on the naked, nippy willow / Murmurs a wilted leaf. Catches frost, gets heavier / In the abyss of a quiet pond. / Darkens and thickens / The stirless water. A pale moon on the wane / Is lying dead, / And on the nak...»
«The sick, tired ice, / The sick and slushy snow… / And all is flowing, flowing… / How blithesome is the vernal run / Of mighty turbid waters! / And cries the hoary snow, / And dies the ice. / The air is full of bliss, / And the bell is singing. / From the arrows of spring will ...»