Yes, I'll die! Will it matter?
I am ready to use my gun!
I will then only need a coffin,
With some luck a half decent one.
Does it really have to be decent?
Better make it snappy, be gone!
Any sign of me will be trampled
By the boots of some other bum.
I know nothing will change for the better,
As our universe could not care less
And the sun will keep shining brightly,
High above this world's filthy mess.
Да, умру я!
И что ж такого?
Хоть сейчас из нагана в лоб!
Может быть,
гробовщик толковый
смастерит мне хороший гроб..
А на что мне хороший гроб-то?
Зарывайте меня хоть как!
Жалкий след мой
будет затоптан
башмаками других бродяг.
И останется всё,
как было —
на Земле,
не для всех родной...
Будет так же
светить Светило
на заплёванный шар земной!..
«Say a few more words to me, / don’t sleep before the dawn. / I need you to feel close to me. / My journey’s almost done. May the last poem I have made / take on new life through your sweet lisp, / your quiet wrestle with sounds / you cannot get your tongue round.»
«I love a despairing peace: / chrysanthemum blossoms in fall, / lights adrift in a river of mist, / a sunset that has turned pale, / nameless graves, all the clichés / of a Symbolist "wordless romance" — / what Annensky loved with such greed / and Gumilyov couldn’t stand.»
«The souls of those I love are on high stars. / How good that there is no-one left to lose / And one can weep. Tsarskoye Selo’s / Air was made to repeat songs. By the river bank the silver willow / Touches the bright September waters. / Rising from the past, my shadow / Comes silently ...»
«My friends, can you descry that mound of earth / Above clear waters in the shade of trees? / You can just hear the babbling spring against the bank; / You can just feel a breeze that's wafting in the leaves; / A wreath and lyre hang upon the boughs... / Alas, my friends! This m...»