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...
«Clear-etched lines of mountains; / The pale-untrustworthy sea… / My excited vision un-curtained, / Drowns in the shoreless leas. In my hidden hopes created / The natural world is ideal, / And all is ashes that is real: / The water, the steppe, the cliffs.»
«Do not cry and do not think: / The past – there’s no such thing! / With a friendly greeting / The light of day breaks in. Falling asleep you ended, / And in waking resurrect. / Look at the sky extended / Without a thought or care. Eternity – a wish fulfilled, / All that is bitt...»
«The measured sound of wheels, / The field, the row of birches, / And many muddled feelings; / Race past, race past, race past. The measured noise and hum, / The sky’s impending horizon, / And many muddled thoughts; / Further! Farther! Distant!»
«Not like other people, not every week, / Not all the time, in a century but twice, / I prayed to you: please intelligibly / Reiterate the words of creation. Unbearable to you are the admixtures / Of intimacies and people's slavishness. / How could you possibly make me happy? / With what...»