Franz Josef Land
In a freezing sea
Is where I’ll forget
You abandoned me.
Rot! I’m aware
On those Polar nights
You’ll shimmer there
In the Northern Lights
And the Polar dawns
Will ripple as those
Long fingers of yours
Spread over the floes.
Thrifty with light is
The Polar Sun.
It’s time you showed it
What can be done.
I need no company —
I want to go shares
In black solitude
With white Polar bears.
Есть земля на севере
Францева Иосифа —
Там навек забуду я,
Что меня ты бросила.
Полно разговаривать,
Знаю я заранее —
Будешь ты участвовать
В северном сиянии.
Знаю я заранее,
Что зарю над льдинами
Будешь пошевеливать
Пальчиками длинными.
Солнышко на севере
Малым светом тратится,
Ждут давно на полюсе
Твоего вмешательства.
Мне людей не надобно,
Мне делиться хочется
С белыми медведями
Черным одиночеством.
«I have got but one only fun left: / Fingers mouthed, and a whistle of cheer. / An ill fame has swept o’er that I am / A vulgarian, a debauchee. Ah, how paltry, how trifling the waste is! / Trifling losses are plenty around. / Having had faith in God is shameful. / Having no faith is ...»
«Out-up is a crescent; down, a wind is blowing. / Settling poplar wool is silvery and glowing. Far ‘talianka* sobbing, solitary descant, / Is so sweetly homey and so sadly distant. Crafty runs now giggle, now burst out crying. / Where are you, my linden? Age ol' mine, where are you? Once, ...»
«The grove of golden trees has fallen silent, / Shorn of its gay leaves, in mute silhouette, / And so the cranes in sad file past it flying / Have no cause any more to feel regret. For whom, for what? We are all rovers, starting / Out, coming home awhile, then traveling on. / The hemp fiel...»
«The golden birch-tree grove has fallen silent / Its merry chatter having stopped afore, / The cranes up there flying over, sullen, / Have nobody to pity any more. Whom should they pity? Each is just a trotter. / One comes and goes and leaves for good again. / The moon and hempen bus...»