There is no better blossom,
Then the apple-tree in spring.
There is no better moment,
When my darling coming in.
When I see him, when I hear him,
Then the everything is whirled.
All my soul is on fire,
All my soul sings a song.
We would look in eyes each other,
And the hot hands bind along.
And together we are walking
Unawared where for...
And around apples blossoming,
They're white throughout May.
And the shining moon in starry sky
Could permit the needle find.
We're wandering along the foothpath,
Where grass is never razed.
And from heart the words are flowing,
Which you never could forget.
By the river the accordeon
Playing silent first, then loud.
There is no better moment,
When my darling simply come.
There is no better blossom,
Then the apple-tree in spring.
There is no better moment,
When my darling coming in.
When I see him, when I hear him,
Then the everything is whirled.
All my soul is on fire,
All my soul sings a song.
Лучше нету того цвету,
Когда яблоня цветет,
Лучше нету той минуты,
Когда милая придет.
Как увижу, как услышу —
Все во мне заговорит,
Вся душа моя пылает,
Вся душа моя горит.
Мы в глаза друг другу глянем,
Руки жаркие сплетем,
И куда — не знаем сами —
Словно пьяные, бредем.
Мы бредем по тем дорожкам,
Где зеленая трава,
Где из сердца сами рвутся
Незабвенные слова.
А кругом сады белеют,
А в садах бушует май,
И такой на небе месяц —
Хоть иголки подбирай.
За рекой гармонь играет —
То зальется, то замрет...
Лучше нету того цвету,
Когда яблоня цветет.
«Don't fall, my little star, keep shining, / Keep dropping chilly beams of light. / There is no living heart abiding / Up there beyond the grave-yard site. / / And from you beam you bring us summer / And fill the fields with rye and hay / And with a thrilling wistful clamour / Of cra...»
«Upon the cobbles / of my foot-clobbered soul, / the steps of loonies / twine their grinding rhymes. / Where the towns / are hung / and in the nooses of clouds / the crooked necks of towers / are wrung, / I start to cry / because / by the crossroads / the cops are crucified.»
«Please Listen! / If stars are lit, / it is something / that somebody needs? / Someone wants them / To be and to last, / Even calls them pearls, those specs of spit. / And suffocating / In the blizzards of midday dust, / He bursts in on God, / afraid it's too late to s...»
«I am back in my city, dear to me like my tears / Like small veins, swollen glands of my infancy years. You have come here, now go ahead in one gulp / Down the fish-oil of Leningrad’s river lights lamps Can you make out this day of December that’s marred / By the egg-yolk stirred into the...»