Our court nightingale,
beak open wide,
can let out the loudest
trills in the world.
The creature is stunning
by what pours from his throat –
but it was he who spurred
Derzhavin to write
that praise and flattery
are by no means the same:
a slave can flatter
but he can’t do praise.
Придворный соловей
Раскроет клюв пошире,
Бросая трель с ветвей,
Крикливейшую в мире.
Не помнит божья тварь
Себя от изумленья,
Долбит, как пономарь,
Хваленья и моленья.
Свистит что было сил,
По всей гремя державе,
О нем и говорил
Язвительный Державин,
Что раб и похвалить
Кого-либо не может.
Он может только льстить,
Что не одно и то же.
«When I watch the flight of leaves, / To the cobblestones at my feet, / Swept up — as if by an artist, / Whose picture’s at last complete, I think how (already no one likes / My figure, face deep in thought) / A strongly yellow, decidedly rusty, / Leaf, there at the crown’s — fo»
«Thinking of something, carelessly, / Something invisible, buried treasure, / Step by step, poppy by poppy, / I beheaded the flowers, at leisure. So someday, in the dry breath / Of summer, at the edge of the sown, / Absent-mindedly, Death / Will gather a flower — my own! »
«Elderberry fills the scene! / Elderberry, green and green. / Greener than mould on the vat! / Summer’s birth, greener than that! / Elderberry, till the light dies! / Elderberry, green as my eyes. And later — at night — with the fires / Of Rostov! – redness in the eyes, / From...»
«Homesickness! That long / Exposure to misery! / It’s all the same to me – / Where I’m utterly lonely Or what stones I wander / Home by, with my sacks, / Home that’s no more mine / Than a hospital, a barracks. It’s all the same to me, what / Faces I bristle among, a lion / ...»