To My Sister
I dreamt of the old house
where I spent my childhood years,
and the heart, as before, finds
comfort, and love, and warmth.
I dreamt of Christmas, the tree,
and my sister laughing out loud,
from morning, the rosy windows
sparkle tenderly.
And in the evening gifts are given
and the pine needles smell of stories
And golden stars risen
are scattered like cinder above the rooftop.
I know that our old house
is falling into disrepair.
Bare, despondent branches
knock against darkening panes.
And in the room with its old furniture,
a resentful captive, cooped up,
lives our father, lonely and weary –
he feels abandoned by us.
Why, oh why do I dream of the country
where the love’s all consumed, all?
Maria, my friend, my sister,
speak my name, call to me, call…
Сестре
Мне старое снилось жилище,
где раннее детство прошло,
где сердце, как прежде, отыщет
приют, и любовь, и тепло.
Мне снилось, что святки, что елка,
что громко смеется сестра,
что искрятся нежно и колко
румяные окна с утра.
А вечером дарят подарки,
и сказками пахнет хвоя,
и звезд золотые огарки
над самою крышей стоят.
...Я знаю — убогим и ветхим
становится старый наш дом;
нагие унылые ветки
стучат за померкшим окном.
А в комнате с мебелью старой,
в обиде и тесноте,
живет одинокий, усталый,
покинутый нами отец...
Зачем же, зачем же мне снится
страна отгоревшей любви?
Мария, подруга, сестрица,
окликни меня, позови...
«We are living, but can’t feel the land where we stay, / More than ten steps away you can’t hear what we say. / But if people would talk on occasion, / They should mention the Kremlin Caucasian. / His thick fingers are bulky and fat like live-baits, / And his accurate words are as hea...»
«The night, street, chemist shop, & lantern, / The gloomy lighting with no aim. / Live more — some dozens years — the pattern / With no escape will be the same. Death brings new start from the beginning, / The past returns itself: the night, / Canal’s ice ripples with no meaning, / ...»
«Night. City calmed down. / Behind the large window / It is quiet and solemnly, / As if a man dies. But there somebody stands simply sad, / Distracted by failure, / With the open collar, / And looks at the stars. "Stars, stars, / Tell me the reason for this melancholy!" And again loo...»
«All thought of prowess, valiant deeds and fame / Would leave me on this suffering earth when on / Your lovely face I gazed that glowed and shone / Before me in its simple wooden frame. But your fate to another you surrendered, / You left, and I… I flung into the night / The cherished ri...»