Scattered shrubs. Vast steppe horizons.
Moonlight spreading everywhere.
Sudden sob of sleigh bell sighing,
Jingling in the chill night air.
Road we love, not much to boast of,
But to which we’re born and bred.
Down it many a time has boldly
Many a man of Russia sped.
Hail, you snowsleighs! Fleet and pleasant!
Aspens rustle as you run.
My old man he was a peasant,
Here am I — a peasant’s son...
I don’t care a damn I’m famous
And a poet — what the hell!
I’ve not seen these parts for ages,
Things don’t seem to go too well.
Anyone who’s once gone racing
Through a countryside so smooth
Feels like kissing and embracing
Every birch-tree’s pretty foot.
How can I refrain from weeping
When these villages merrily ring
To the young folk’s concertinas
In grey winter, in green spring.
Concertina, bane of the nation,
Many a man has thrown away
A magnificent reputation
To the music that you play.
Мелколесье. Степь и дали.
Свет луны во все концы.
Вот опять вдруг зарыдали
Разливные бубенцы.
Неприглядная дорога,
Да любимая навек,
По которой ездил много
Всякий русский человек.
Эх вы, сани! Что за сани!
Звоны мерзлые осин.
У меня отец крестьянин,
Ну а я крестьянский сын.
Наплевать мне на известность
И на то, что я поэт.
Эту чахленькую местность
Не видал я много лет.
Тот, кто видел хоть однажды
Этот край и эту гладь,
Тот почти березке каждой
Ножку рад поцеловать.
Как же мне не прослезиться,
Если с венкой в стынь и звень
Будет рядом веселиться
Юность русских деревень.
Эх, гармошка, смерть-отрава,
Знать, с того под этот вой
Не одна лихая слава
Пропадала трын-травой.
«Past one o’clock. You’re probably in bed / The Milky Way streams like the silver Oka / I won’t send wild telegrams. I don’t intend / to trouble you and vex you any longer / and now, as people say, our case is closed / the boat of love could not endure the grind / We’re even now...»
«In the realm of Threeteenseventy, / Commonwealth of Thriceleventy, / Lived the famous Tsar Dadon. / Fierce he was from boyhood on, / And when scarcely more than twenty / Wrought his neighbors wrongs aplenty. / Aging now, he changed in mind, / Would give up the warlike grind / For a l...»
«Sun is but one, yet it marches through all towns undone. / Sun is all mine. I shall give it away to no one, / / For a day, for a ray, for a glance. — To no one. Nevermore! / Let cities perish in dark endless night, I implore! / / I'll take the sun in my palms! I won't let it go round...»
«Sun — is one, but treads all over the cities, / Sun — is mine. I shan't give it to anybody. Not for an hour, for ray, nor for glance. — Nobody, never! / Then let cities vanish in the night unchangeable. I'll take it in hands! — To avoid its circling in round! / Besides of burning ...»