A white and lonely sail is flickering
Across the blue fog of the sea
What does he seek in far-off distance?
What did he leave in home country?
The waves are playing — wind is whistling,
The mast of ship does bend and moan..
Alas — happiness he's not seeking
Nor does from happiness he run.
Beneath him water's light as azure,
Above him sun's rays, gold and warm..
But he, rebellious, storm is seeking,
As if there's calm inside the storm!
Белеет парус одинокой
В тумане моря голубом!..
Что ищет он в стране далекой?
Что кинул он в краю родном?..
Играют волны — ветер свищет,
И мачта гнется и скрыпит...
Увы! он счастия не ищет,
И не от счастия бежит!
Под ним струя светлей лазури,
Над ним луч солнца золотой...
А он, мятежный, просит бури,
Как будто в бурях есть покой!
«“Pan-Mongolism — though the word is strange, / My ear acclaims its gongs.” / — Vladimir Solovyov. You are the millions, we are multitude / And multitude and multitude. / Come, fight! Yea, we are Scythians, / Yea, Asians, a squint-eyed, greedy brood. / / For you: the centu...»
«A soldier came back home one day / acounting all he’d won: / “We’re sure to eat our fill tonight — / us and the little ones! “There’s seven grand! A real day’s haul! / I’ve had some luck I’d say! / Into the daily salt I mixed / some fine ground glass today.” “Dear...»
«To Ilya Ehrenburg Horses know how to swim, / But not so well. Not too far. In Russian, "Gloria" means "Slava." / That you can easily remember. The ship sailed on, proud of its name. / The ocean tried to get the better of it. In the hold, shaking their good heads, / A thousand horses tram...»
«They were burnt in tanks, my comrades, / burnt to embers, cinders, reduced to ash. / Grass grew out of them, of course, / grass that spreads over half the world. / My comrades / were blown up / on mines, / pitched high in the air, / and many stars, remote and peaceful, / were kindl...»