Yes, I like you, my knife of damask pledge,
My friend so bright and so cold,
A thoughtful Georgian forged you for his revenge,
A free Circassian then sharpened for a row.
You had been trusted me by lily-like a hand —
A sign for memory — in time of separation,
And now no blood has dripped from you on land,
But crystal tears — the pearls of depravation.
And looking strait at me, the black and immense eyes,
Filled to their rims with the mysterious woe,
Like your reflective steel in light of fire-dance,
Were sometimes darkness — sometimes glow.
On roads, you are friend — the voiceless passion’s grant,
And for a traveler — the object to rely on:
I will be never changed — my soul will be hard
As you, as you, my friend of iron.
Люблю тебя, булатный мой кинжал,
Товарищ светлый и холодный.
Задумчивый грузин на месть тебя ковал,
На грозный бой точил черкес свободный.
Лилейная рука тебя мне поднесла
В знак памяти, в минуту расставанья,
И в первый раз не кровь вдоль по тебе текла,
Но светлая слеза — жемчужина страданья.
И черные глаза, остановясь на мне,
Исполнены таинственной печали,
Как сталь твоя при трепетном огне,
То вдруг тускнели, то сверкали.
Ты дан мне в спутники, любви залог немой,
И страннику в тебе пример не бесполезный:
Да, я не изменюсь и буду тверд душой,
Как ты, как ты, мой друг железный.
«My voice is weak, but will will never weaken. / Without love, I’m more at ease, I’m sure. / The sky is high, the mountain wind is sweeping, / And all my thoughts are innocent and pure. My nurse-insomnia has moved on down the block, / Gray ashes do not cut me to the marrow, / The crook...»
«He was jealous, and anxious, and tender. / And I was like God’s sun to him. / To stop her from singing of the days she remembered, / He killed my white bird on a whim. He entered the front room at dusk and implored: / “Love me, laugh, and continue to write!” / And I buried the cheer...»
«Love’s memory — a heavy weight! / And I must sing upon its coals. / For others men, — its blaze creates / A bit of warmth for cooling souls. To warm their sated bodies nightly, / They need my tears and I lament… / It’s not for this I sang, Almighty! / Partaking in love’s sa...»
«The sky’s azure lacquer is waning / And you can hear the ocarina play. / She’s just a little fife who’s made of clay, / What is the cause for all of her complaining? / Who left all of my sins for her exposed? / And why does she forgive me anyhow? / Or is a voice reciting to me now ...»