Morning and evening, darkness and light —
Fishermen black and fishermen white.
The world’s like an ocean; like fishes are we,
Like fishes that swim in the depths of the sea.
The world’s like an ocean where fishermen wait,
Preparing their nets, their hooks and their bait.
How soon then, O Time, will you bring me to book
In the nets of the Night or on Day’s baited hook?
Утро и вечер, солнце и мрак —
Белый рыбак, черный рыбак.
В мире как в море; и кажется мне:
Мы, словно рыбы, плывем в глубине.
В мире как в море: не спят рыбаки,
Сети готовят и ладят крючки.
В сети ли ночи, на удочку дня
Скоро ли время поймает меня?
Пер. Н. Гребнева
«No moon but a clock-face. How’s it a sin / that while it dazzles my eyes I examine / the muted stars’ milky light? Poet Batyushkov, son to a parson, / how he’d spout on. “What’s the time?” they’d ask him. / “Eternity”, he replied.»
«Oh, heart’s remembrance! You are, yet, / Mush stronger than sad one of reasons; / And, often in a distant land, / Bewitch me with your even sweetness. / I hear the sound of your word, / I see the blue of eyes, so dear, / I see your golden locks, right here, / Of the hair so negligent...»
«My friend! I have seen the sea's menace / And the vengeful sky's cursed punishment: / The despicable deeds of mortal enemies, / Blare of war, catastrophic conflagrations. / I have seen the multitudes of rich men / Fleeing in nothing but tattered rags, / I've seen the weathered faces of m...»
«O memory of heart! you're stronger / Than reminiscence of cool mind; / You captivate my soul much longer, / With images of better kind. / These azure eyes and tender words, / These golden curls — as consolation / From love — for mirthless separation / Are precious memory's rewards....»