Is life colorless? We have to
Be quite persevering
Twice a year, my bosom buddy,
You can triumph like a king...
If, by any chance, somewhere, —
Masquerade or somewhere else,
In a carriage platform, sort of,
Upper deck, or such a place,
You encounter a person
A noble and a simple one,
Absolutely independent.
Strong, intelligent, live man,
Go and buy some Bengal lights, and
Order flourish to a band,
Rub yourself with rose oil liquid,
Take a liqueur shower and
Wear a dress coat for a fortnight,
Give out alms to those in need
Laugh with bitter perturbation,
Cry for joy, perform a deed.
Once or twice a year — it's serious,
Three and five times — if it's good.
All you've got to have, my dear,
Is persistence and pursuit.
Жизнь бесцветна? Надо, друг мой,
Быть упорным и искать:
Раза два в году ты можешь,
Как король, торжествовать...
Если где-нибудь случайно, —
В маскараде иль в гостях,
На площадке ли вагона,
Иль на палубных досках,
Ты столкнёшься с человеком
Благородным и простым,
До конца во всём свободным,
Сильным, умным и живым,
Накупи бенгальских спичек,
Закажи оркестру туш,
Маслом розовым намажься
И прими ликёрный душ!
Десять дней ходи во фраке,
Нищим сто рублей раздай,
Смейся в горьком умиленьи
И от радости рыдай...
Раза два в году — не шутка,
А при счастье — три и пять.
Надо только, друг мой бедный,
Быть упорным и искать.
«(Akhmatova) Preserve my speech forever for its taste of sadness and smoke, / For its resin of mutual forbearance, for its tar of conscience and work. / So Novgorod well water must be sweet and black, / To reflect as seven fins a Christmastide star. And for this, my father, my coarse helper a...»
«Enough of sniveling! Shove our papers in the desk, / By a fancy devil I’m now possessed / As if my favorite barber, Francois, / Had shampooed my hair to the roots. I’ll make a bet Pm not yet dead, / And like a jockey, I’ll stake my head / That I can still create an impact / And st...»
«Still far from patriarch or sage, / I’m still a half-respected age. / I still get cursed behind my back / In the savage tongue of tramcar rows, / Possessed of neither rhyme nor sense: / “What a so-and-so!” Oh, I apologize / But in my heart don’t mend my ways... If you think, you...»
«Skillful mistress of guilty glances / Heiress owning tiny shoulders, / The dangerous habits of the male are tamed / And the drowning woman-speech is dumb. Fish swim, flap fins, and puff their gills. / Here, take it, try to feed them now — / Their mouths that gape in silent O’s — / ...»