I sing when throat is moist, and soul is dry and cold,
And when my eye is damp, and mind does not dissemble:
How healthy is the wine? And will the wineskins hold?
And what about Colchian’s bloody coursing tremble?
Demure’s my breast, it has no words – it is not bold:
My song has ceased already – lips but breaths assemble,
My ear is scabbard-sheathed, my head is deaf and old.
It is a selfless song – itself its merit’s stitch:
To friends it is a joy, to foes it is but pitch.
It is a one-eyed song, and from the moss it grows,
A one-voiced gift that stems from hunter’s occupation,
This song is sung aloft by horseman as he goes,
Who freely makes with in- and exhalation,
Who canters onwards now in truth and jubilation
To bear the young to wedding feast, released from woes.
Пою, когда гортань сыра, душа — суха,
И в меру влажен взор, и не хитрит сознанье:
Здорово ли вино? Здоровы ли меха?
Здорово ли в крови Колхиды колыханье?
И грудь стесняется, — без языка — тиха:
Уже я не пою — поет мое дыханье —
И в горных ножнах слух, и голова глуха...
Песнь бескорыстная — сама себе хвала:
Утеха для друзей и для врагов — смола.
Песнь одноглазая, растущая из мха, —
Одноголосый дар охотничьего быта, —
Которую поют верхом и на верхах,
Держа дыханье вольно и открыто,
Заботясь лишь о том, чтоб честно и сердито
На свадьбу молодых доставить без греха.
«I know nothing, I trust in nothing, / I no longer in life see its brighter side. / I approach my friend as if he were a lion / I need nothing else. I am bored and tired. Someone knifes someone, smothers another.. / Everywhere, cheating, lying and greed. / Would eyes not see and would ears...»
«She lies, opening her teats, strong, swollen, wide, / And at her breasts, their equal gift bestowing, / Mad Nero and meek Buddha clutch, unknowing, / As clinging twins who suckle side by side. / She holds two vessels, whence, forever flowing, / The streams of Life and Death serenely g...»
«Three times I saw him face to face. / The first time was in the gardens — / I had been sent to fetch food for my comrades, / and to make the journey shorter / I took the path by the palace wing; / suddenly I caught the tremor of strings, / and, being tall of stature, / I peered th...»
«How goest your life with another? / Any easier? One oar in the water, plink! / And off drifts the erstwhile once-lover. / Did all too soon the memory shrink Of me, the island that sails astray / (Through sky and not through watery mass)? / Souls, souls! You’re to be siblings now, hey! /...»