Chénier went up to meet the guillotine,
And I'm alive. That is a dreadful sin.
There are times that steel over everyone.
He is no bard who sings as bullets spin.
He is no father, trembling at the gate,
Whose arms rip battle-armor off his son.
There are times when the sun is deadly sin.
It is no human who today lives on.
Андрей Шенье взошёл на эшафот,
А я живу — и это страшный грех.
Есть времена — железные — для всех.
И не певец, кто в порохе — поёт.
И не отец, кто с сына у ворот
Дрожа срывает воинский доспех.
Есть времена, где солнце — смертный грех.
Не человек — кто в наши дни живёт.
«Groans, / Groans, / Exhausted, fathomless, / The prolonged tolling / Of funeral bells. / Groans, / Groans... / Complaints, / Complaints against the Father... / Burning, piercing pity, / A yearning for the end, / Co...»
«They babbled / fairy tales to / me about the earth: / “Man lives there. And love.” But, in truth — / there’s only evil, / Disguises. Masks. / Lies and filth. Lies and blood. When they suggested /...»
«They would pass by, and again depart, / They could not deceive me... / There is a certain, single word / Which encompasses the entire essence. The others — are dried feather-grass. / The others — are all flotsam, / Gray dust. / A girl walked across the street, / An auto screamed a...»
«How this bitter cold’s exhausted me, / This frost in my heart. / If only I could weep to thaw my heart, / But there are no tears...»