My talent is pitiful, my voice not loud,
but I am living; somewhere in the world
someone looks kindly on my life; far off
a distant fellow-man will read my words
and find my being; and, who knows, my soul
will raise an echo in his soul, and I
who found a friend in my own time,
will find a reader in posterity.
Мой дар убог и голос мой не громок,
Но я живу, и на земли моё
Кому-нибудь любезно бытиё:
Его найдёт далёкий мой потомок
В моих стихах: как знать? душа моя
Окажется с душой его в сношеньи,
И как нашёл я друга в поколеньи,
Читателя найду в потомстве я.
«3 Aren't you tired, after so many roses, / Cities and toasts / To love me? You're almost a skeleton, / I'm almost a ghost. And why should I know, that you had to call / On a higher power? / And why should I know, that there was smell of Nile / In my hair? No, I better tell you a tale:...»
«4 Exactly — midnight. / Moon — like a hawk. / "Why — do you peer?" / "Thus — I peer!" "Do you like me?" "No." / "Do you recognize me?" "Maybe." / "I am Don Juan." / "And I am Carmen."»
«5 And this Don Juan had Donna Anna, / And this Don Juan possessed a sword. / Of the beautiful, unhappy Don Juan / This from people is the only word. But I was a clever one today: / I at midnight stepped on roadside, / Someone went along with me in stride / Calling names. And in fog th...»
«6 And the silk sash is falling / To his feet — a snake heavenly.. / And "someday, when she's underground, / You will calm down" they tell me. I see my profile, old / And arrogant in brocade white. / And somewhere — guitars — guitars — / And youths in a cloak like the night. ...»