• Язык:
    Словацкий (Slovak)



Krajina úrodného chladu,
hučiacich hôr a lesov, kde
búrlivé vlny vodopádu
klokocú príbeh o biede.

Pre nás to bude navždy svätá
krajina, kde sa krutý zbor
sformoval. Či sa nepamätáš
na deň, keď tiahol na Bospor?

Odpovedz, otázka je prostá,
prečo jak svedok zlostných zvád
Olegov medený štít zostal
pri bráne mesta Carihrad?

A prečo do únavných predstáv
upadla ako včera zas
tá sestra, čo si na piedestál
moci a slávy dvihol raz?

Či nebodaj tvoj vietor s nehou
zbytočne do uší nám vyl,
kraj Slovanov a Pečenehov
nadarmo Rurik obsadil?

Другие переводы:

  • Английский
    Бартон Раффел, Алла Бураго

А вот еще:

My Readers

An old tramp in Addis Ababa, / conqueror of many tribes, / sent me a black lance-bearer / bringing a greeting of my own poetry. / A lieutenant who runs gunboats / under enemy cannon / read me my poems, for a souvenir, one whole night / across the southern sea. / A man who shot the Ts...

The White Willow

The white willow was black, up on the hill, / crows puffed faintly; / in the blue, the very blue meadow / clouds wandered like sheep. / And intending to give yourself / you said, "I love you - " / and grass grew all around, grass like an ocean, / and it was afternoon. / I was kissing...

My Hour

It’s not dawn yet, / not night, not morning. / A crow under my window, / half awake, lifts one wing, / and in the sky star after star / melts forever. / Now: this is my hour, I can do anything - / my mind can reach through to a helpless enemy / and leap on his chest / like a ...

A Knight of Happiness

How easy the world comes! / You - angry at life, / you - sighing like the wind, / I can make everyone happy. / / Come: I’ll tell you / about a green-eyed girl, / and the blue darkness of morning, / shot through with poems and light. / / Come! I’ll tell you, I need /...

A Little Song

That scent is you, / only you, / you move, you shine / like the moon. / / Things you’ve touched / are holy, / blessed with a new / beauty. / / Who can bother / worrying, / can keep from wanting / you? / / The pain...

My Days

My days blow dully / by, as painful as ever, / like a rose-petal rain, / like nightingales dying. / / But she too knows pain, / she who commanded / my love, and her satin skin / flushes with poisoned blood. / / And if I stay alive / it’s all for a single / dream: like...