Dedicated to I. D. Rudinsky
Sun’s golden arc
Hot like a red coal,
Sent down its spark
And it warmed my soul;
Although, I am not sure
Now, I hope that I could
Expect from my future
To bring something good;
The warmth brought me back
To life, the light illuminated me
I forgot the past, all that I lack
And all that is lacking in me.
Warmed by the Light
My blood caught fire,
My soul shined, alight
My spirit was inspired.
I feel restored by the ray,
My heart still beats stronger,
These good feelings are here to stay
Even when the sun shines no longer;
On the trip I am forced to make
Love goes with me from the start.
It banishes anguish, fear and ache
And it gives freedom to my heart.
И. Д. Рудинскому
Солнца луч золотой
Бросил искру свою
И своей теплотой
Согрел душу мою.
И надежда в груди
Затаилась моей;
Что-то жду впереди
От грядущих я дней.
Оживило тепло,
Озарил меня свет.
Я забыл, что прошло
И чего во мне нет.
Загорелася кровь
Жарче дня и огня.
И светло и тепло
На душе у меня.
Чувства полны добра,
Сердце бьется сильней.
Оживил меня луч
Теплотою своей.
Я с любовью иду
На указанный путь,
И от мук и тревог
Не волнуется грудь.
«3 You are going — west of the sun now. / You will see there — evening light. / You are going — west of the sun and / snow will cover up your tracks. Past my windows — passionless / you are going in quiet snow. / Saint of God, beautiful, you / are the quiet light of my soul but...»
«5 At home in Moscow — where the domes are burning, / at home in Moscow — in the sound of bells, / where I live the tombs — in their rows are standing / and in them Tsaritsas — are asleep and Tsars. And you don’t know how — at dawn the Kremlin is / the easiest place to — breat...»
«8 And the gadflies gather about indifferent cart-horses, / the red calico of Kaluga puffs out in the wind, / it is a time of whistling quails and huge skies, / bells waving over waves of com, and more / talk about Germans than anyone can bear. / Now yellow, yellow, beyond the blue trees i...»
«9 A weak shaft of light through the blackness of hell is / your voice under the rumble of exploding shells in that thunder like a seraph he is announcing / in a toneless voice, from somewhere else, some ancient misty morning he inhabits, how he / loved us, who are blind and nameless who sh...»