The capitals are rocked with thunder
Of orators in wordy feuds.
But in the depths of Russia, yonder,
An age-old awful silence broods.
Only the wind in wayside willows,
Coming and going, does not cease;
And corn-stalks touch in curving billows
The earth that cherishes and pillows,
Through endless fields of changeless peace.
В столицах шум, гремят витии,
Кипит словесная война,
А там, во глубине России, –
Там вековая тишина.
Лишь ветер не дает покою
Вершинам придорожных ив,
И выгибаются дугою,
Целуясь с матерью землею,
Колосья бесконечных нив...
«You flow like a river with your strange name / And your asphalt transparent like water in a river. / Oh my Arbat, / you are my vocation, / You are my joy and my misfortune. / / Your pedestrians are not exalted people, / Their heels pound...»
«The music of the soul is ever fainter, / the music of the attack is ever more resonant. / But don’t hasten (to comment) on that: / so as not to be deceived in the darkness, / that the music of the attack is more resonant, / and the music of the soul ever fainter. / / the louder is t...»
«No matter how they insulted our courtyard, it’s in a classic period. / No way of coping with it now even though it’s been disarmed. / There’s Volodya in the courtyard / with his silver strings, / his golden fingers, his voice is needed. No matter how they fought against the guitar, th...»
«The Roman empire in its period of decline / retained the appearance of firm order. / The chief was in place, his comrades-in-arms by his side, / life was fine, judging by the reports. / / But critics will say that the word “comrades-in-arms” isn’t a Roman item, / that this mistake...»