Unmoved by bullets, confrontations,
Unmoved by songs of celebration!
And so I gape, with admiration:
“What people! What a nation!”
A nation — such, that with elation —
A mouthpiece of vastness stationed —
A poet, gapes with adoration,
Dumbstruck: O, what a nation!
It won’t submit to occupation,
Or to the luxury its shown, —
You try to beat it with starvation?
Try starving — granite stone!
(It’s there — it cuts a stone with care,
Its grammar won’t grow stagnant…
Engrained inside, it waits! — it flares! —
A garnet, makes - a magnet.)
…Took radium out of its chest,
And gave you — a donation!
Alive, — with Europe still abreast —
To bury such a nation?
If you yourself are – such, my Lord!
You’ll do it as I’m willing -
Don’t sanctify it with your horde, -
Breathe life into the living!
Его и пуля не берёт,
И песня не берёт!
Так и стою, раскрывши рот:
— Народ! Какой народ!
Народ — такой, что и поэт —
Глашатай всех широт, —
Что и поэт, раскрывши рот,
Стоит — такой народ!
Когда ни сила не берёт,
Ни дара благодать, —
Измором взять такой народ?
Гранит — измором взять!
(Сидит — и камешек гранит,
И грамотку хранит…
В твоей груди зарыт — горит! —
Гранат, творит — магнит.)
…Что радий из своей груди
Достал и подал: вот!
Живым — Европы посреди —
Зарыть такой народ?
Бог! Если ты и сам — такой,
Народ моей любви
Не со святыми упокой —
С живыми оживи!
«The road of the seaside garden turns dark, / The streetlamps are yellow and prim. / And I’m very calm. But don’t you remark / And talk to me of him. / My dear and loyal one, we will be friends… / Be merry, and kiss, and grow wise… / And moons will soar lightly over our heads, / ...»
«God has no mercy on gardeners and reapers / And ringing, the rains fall awry / And the mosaic of wide cloaks now shimmers / In waters, that once showed the sky. The kingdom of water holds meadows and ranges, / And streams freely sing as they play, / The plums start to burst on the long sw...»
«We’re not in the forest, no need to bellow, — / Such mockery fills me with dread, / Won’t you sing lullabies in order to mellow / My wounded conscience instead? You have many other cares, / And a wife, I realize… / And the Petersburg spring stares / Deep into my withered eyes. ...»
«He was promised to me by it all: / The pleasant dream at Christmastime, / The tarnished sky of red and gold, / And Easter winds that seemed to chime, The red rods of the twigs, all nestled, / And waterfalls within the park, / And two big dragonflies that rested / Atop the fence corroded...»