The sailors near the port
shouted in chorus, demanding wine,
and over Stambul and over the Bosphorus
the full moon shone.
Tonight they will hurl an unfaithful wife
to the bottom of the bay,
a wife who was too beautiful
and looked like the moon.
She loved her daydreams,
the summer-house in the reed thicket,
old women fortune-tellers and their fortune-telling
and everything the Pasha did not like.
Father was sad, but understands
and whispers to the husband: «Well, is it time?»,
but the younger sister does not lift
her stubborn eyes and muses:
«Many, many other lovers
lie in the deep bays,
intertwined, languid and silent...
What happiness to be among them!»
Еще близ порта орали хором
Матросы, требуя вина,
А над Стамбулом и над Босфором
Сверкнула полная луна.
Сегодня ночью на дно залива
Швырнут неверную жену,
Жену, что слишком была красива
И походила на луну.
Она любила свои мечтанья,
Беседку в чаще камыша,
Старух гадальщиц, и их гаданья,
И все, что не любил паша.
Отец печален, но понимает
И шепчет мужу: «что ж, пора?»
Но глаз упрямых не поднимает,
Мечтает младшая сестра:
— Так много, много в глухих заливах
Лежит любовников других,
Сплетенных, томных и молчаливых…
Какое счастье быть средь них!
«The smiles of summer are simply indistinct / And winter is too clear, / But I can unerringly pick out / Three autumns in each year. The first is a holiday chaos / Spiting the summer of yesterday. / Leaves fly like a schoolboy’s notes, / Like incense, the smell of smoke, / Everything...»
«Here the loveliest of young women fight / for the honour of marrying the hangmen; / here the righteous are tortured at night / and the resolute worn down by hunger»
«I love my country, but with a strange love — / stronger than reason!.. / Neither the fame that blood can buy, / nor the calm pride of confidence, / nor the time-honoured gifts of ignorant days / can stir my soul with dreams of happiness. But what I love — for some strange reason — ...»
«We’re all boozers and floozies here, / altogether a joyless crowd! / On the walls, the flowers and birds / yearn for clouds. You sit puffing your black pipe; / smoke is rising; strange and dim. / This tight skirt makes me look / slimmer than slim. The windows boarded up for good — ...»