Let's head to village of the Tsar
Where drunken, swept by wind and free
Young men are smiling right at me
Riding on horseback high and far.
Let's head to village of the Tsar!
Parks, castles, stables in a row
And on the trees are lumps of snow
And to the shouts — «be well, hotshots»
The words "be well" ring back like shots —
Parks, castles, stables in a row.
One-story houses wide and far
Where generals of single mind
Shorten their lifetimes going blind
Reading Dumas and «Nieva»:
Mansions — not houses — wide and far.
Train whistles. Riding in, a knight,
With retinue in pavilions full of light
A sword behind him sternly dragging
Officer leaves the cabin, ragging:
I do not doubt this is a knight!
And man is coming home again —
Where etiquette and decor reign
A fear-instilling chariot
A grey-haired fraulein on the spot
Knows, man is coming home again...
Поедем в Царское Село!
Свободны, ветренны и пьяны,
Там улыбаются уланы,
Вскочив на крепкое седло...
Поедем в Царское Село!
Казармы, парки и дворцы,
А на деревьях — клочья ваты,
И грянут „здравия“ раскаты
На крик — „здорово, молодцы“!
Казармы, парки и дворцы...
Одноэтажные дома,
Где однодумы-генералы
Свой коротают век усталый,
Читая Ниву и Дюма...
Особняки — а не дома!
Свист паровоза... едет князь.
В стеклянном павильоне свита!..
И, саблю волоча сердито,
Выходит офицер, кичась —
Не сомневаюсь — это князь...
И возвращается домой —
Конечно, в царство этикета,
Внушая тайный страх, карета
С мощами фрейлины седой,
Что возвращается домой...
«The din dies down. I enter from the wings. / Leaning inside the doorway to the stage, / I try and catch an echo in the distance, / A sense of what shall happen in my age. Thousands of theater glasses focus on me, / Turning on me the darkness of the night. / If it be in Thy power, Abba ...»
«Held captured and enraptured deeply, / I saw my dreams during the day, — / All saw me sleeping where I lay, / Nobody saw me tired and sleepy. And all because throughout the day, / The dreams were floating in my sight, / I can’t sleep now, and here I stay / And like a lonesome shadow...»
«Some — made of stone, others — of clay, — / But none of them sparkle like me! / Marina's my name, caprice is my way, / I'm the transient foam of the sea. Some — made of clay, others — of flesh, / For them, there are tombstones and graves... / I'm — baptized at sea, and bro...»
«Two hands, lowered, touching lightly, / Resting on an infant’s head! / Two small heads were once beside me — / One for every hand. But from utter darkness– grueling — / Fierce — and not to be outdone! — / I, with both, the eldest pulling — / Couldn’t save the younger on...»