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!
«6 Thinking him human they / decided to kill him, and / now he’s dead. For ever. / — Weep. For the dead angel. At the day’s setting, he / sang the evening beauty. / Three waxen lights now / shudder superstitiously and lines of light, hot / strings across the snow come from him....»
«10 Look there he is, weary from foreign parts, / a leader without body-guard there — he is drinking a mountain stream from his hands / a prince without native land. He has everything in his holy princedom there / Army, bread and mother. Lovely is your inheritance. / Govern, friend with...»
«A kiss on the head — wipes away misery. / I kiss your head. A kiss on the eyes — takes away sleeplessness. / I kiss your eyes. A kiss on the lips — quenches the deepest thirst. / I kiss your lips. A kiss on the head—wipes away memory. / I kiss your head.»
«Yesterday he still looked in my eyes, yet / today his looks are bent aside. Yesterday / he sat here until the birds began, but / today all those larks are ravens. Stupid creature! And you are wise, you / live while I am stunned. / Now for the lament of women in all times: / — My love,...»