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...
«Wait for me, and I'll return! / Wait with all your might! / Wait, when yellow foliage rains / Will tell you to stop. / Wait when snows are falling fast, / Wait through summer's heat, / Wait when yesterdays are past, / Others are forgotten all. / Wait, when from remote places, / ...»
«August – asters, / August – starlight, / August – bunches / Of ripe grapes and rusty rowan / Berries – August! With benev’lent, sound, befitting / Emperors, your apple regal, / Like a child, you’re playing, August. / Like a palm, your name smooths heartache, / Emperors b...»
«August – asters, / August – astral, / August – clusters / Of ripe grapes and rusty / Rowan – August! / Like a child, who’s playing gladly / With a ball, you’re playing, August, / With your orb, so, huge and heavy. / Like a palm is to a bosom, / Is your name imperial, ...»
«I Down the alley, the horses are led, / Their long wavy manes - all combed out, / A place full of riddles, how I lament, / Having fallen in love with this town. It’s strange to recall: the soul pined for joy, / Only gasping for breath to pull through, / And now I’ve become a playthin...»