When forty rolls around
It’s too late to play with the muses
It’s too late to languish to music
To drink fiery potion
It’s time to quiet down
It’s time to raise grandchildren
It’s time to shorten your road
When forty rolls around.
When forty rolls around
You shouldn’t be rash
You shouldn’t write letters
You shouldn’t haunt the night
Cursing your desires and lusts
Or hang onto dreams of life
On seventh heaven
When forty rolls around.
When forty rolls around
When forty rolls around
We turn into Venus’ step-children
Be it Moscow or New York
You’re kicked out to the backstreets.
That’s all, grandma Sofia
That’s what’s left of your philosophy
When forty rolls around.
Когда перевалит за сорок,
Поздно водиться с Музами,
Поздно томиться музыкой,
Пить огневое снадобье, —
Угомониться надобно:
Надобно внуков нянчить,
Надобно путь заканчивать,
Когда перевалит за сорок.
Когда перевалит за сорок,
Нечего быть опрометчивой,
Письма писать нечего,
Ночью бродить по дому,
Страсть проклинать подлую,
Нечего верить небыли,
Жить на седьмом небе,
Когда перевалит за сорок.
Когда перевалит за сорок,
Когда перевалит за сорок,
Мы у Венеры в пасынках,
Будь то в Москве иль в Нью-Йорке,
Выгнаны мы на задворки...
Так-то, бабушка Софья, —
Вот-те и вся философия,
Когда перевалит за сорок!
«All year long, you have always been near me, / Always joyful and young, all along! / Could it be that you haven’t grown weary / Of the suffering strings’ troubled song, — Those, which used to be taut and loud, / And can now only moan slightly, spent, / They’re tormented and nearly...»
«The ancient city seems neglected, / I’ve come here at a loss. / By his river, Vlad erected / A black heavy cross. Limes are loud, elms — effaced / In a swarthy horde, / Diamond-clustered stars are raised / Up high to the Lord. My sacrificial journey’s path / Here will come to e...»
«The black road was winding slowly, / And a drizzle started, / Someone asked if they could walk me / Home, before we parted. / I accepted, still afraid to / Look at him at all, / It became so strange, days later, / To recall that stroll. / Fog was spreading out like incense / From a...»
«How I love, how I loved to gaze endlessly / On the ironclad shores up ahead, / On the balconies, where for centuries, / Not a foot of a person was set. / You’re the capital — truly, forever, / For the mad and the bright ones, like us, / But, at the time, when over the Neva, / That ...»