Yes! It's settled! Now and for ever
I have left my dear old plain.
And the winged leaves of poplars will never
Ring and rustle above me again.
Our house will sag in my absence,
And my dog died a long time ago.
Me, I'm fated to die with compassions
In the crooked streets of Moscow, I know.
I admire this city of elm-trees
With decrepit buildings and homes.
Golden somnolent Asian entities
Are reposing on temple domes.
When the moonlight at night, dissipated,
Shines... like hell in the dark sky of blue!
I walk down the alley, dejected,
To the pub for a drink, maybe, two.
It's a sinister den, harsh and roaring,
But in spite of it, all through the night
I read poems for girls that go whoring
And carouse with thieves with delight.
Now I speak but my words are quite pointless,
And the beat of my heart is fast:
«Just like you, I am totally worthless,
And I cannot re-enter the past».
Our house will sag in my absence.
And my dog died a long time ago.
Me, I'm fated to die with compassions
In the crooked streets of Moscow, I know.
Да! Теперь решено. Без возврата
Я покинул родные поля.
Уж не будут листвою крылатой
Надо мною звенеть тополя.
Низкий дом без меня ссутулится,
Старый пес мой давно издох.
На московских изогнутых улицах
Умереть, знать, судил мне Бог.
Я люблю этот город вязевый,
Пусть обрюзг он и пусть одрях.
Золотая дремотная Азия
Опочила на куполах.
А когда ночью светит месяц,
Когда светит… черт знает как!
Я иду, головою свесясь,
Переулком в знакомый кабак.
Шум и гам в этом логове жутком,
Но всю ночь, напролет, до зари,
Я читаю стихи проституткам
И с бандитами жарю спирт.
Сердце бьется все чаще и чаще,
И уж я говорю невпопад:
— Я такой же, как вы, пропащий,
Мне теперь не уйти назад.
Низкий дом без меня ссутулится,
Старый пес мой давно издох.
На московских изогнутых улицах
Умереть, знать, судил мне Бог.
«My friend, I'm really just sorry / about who, in secret blindness, / passing all length of the green alley, / just can not notice on leaves / the striking network of the streaks / and points of the tubercles / or even the serrated tracks / from saws of the blue-horned slugs.»
«What does my heart indeed just need / to be happy? So not a lot... / I like animals, trees, God, / A beam — at noon,darkness — at night. And on the edge of outside / I'll say: where was affliction? / I sang, and if I ever cried — / so only with tears of admiration.»
«If all silver that falls to us / At night from the moon, / And all gold that goes to us / From the sun at noon, I'd just bring to her...She'd tell me, / "Oh, my dear poet, / Give me such a precious metal / That is underground!"»
«When the moonlight dispassionately illuminates / The world that is asleep at night,quite all this world, / Sometimes it seems this light just penetrates / In the departed world like under a burial vault. By the moonlight it seems this world is afterlife, / And that before this life we lived...»