• Язык:
    Английский (English)

The Muzhik

Мужик

In brambles, deep in huge marshes,
near a tin river,
in shaggy log cabins, dark, dark,
there are strange muzhiks.*

Sometimes one comes out, there where no roads go
where feather-grass* scatters,
and he listens to Stribog* scream, and
he senses an old story, a true story.

A Pecheneg* came through here, once,
staring straight ahead...
It smells of snakes, of must and mist,
down near the emptying rivers.

There he is, carrying his pack,
filling the forest trail
with a long, drawn-out song, a soft song,
but a sly song, oh a wicked song.

This trail is — light and darkness,
a thief whistling in fields,
arguments, bloody quarrels
in inns as frightening as dreams.

He comes — God help us! —
to our proud capital.
He enchants the empress
of endless Russia

With his eyes, his childlike smile,
his sly talk —
and a gold cross glows
on his brave chest.

Why didn’t the cross on the church
of Kazan,* and Saint Isaac’s* cross,
why didn’t they — oh Christ our Lord! —
why didn’t they bend, and descend?

Shots and shouts across the shaken
capital, bells, alarms;
the city bares its teeth like a lioness
protecting her cubs.

“Well, go on, you holy ones, burn
my corpse on the dark bridge,
throw my ashes to the wind...
Who’ll defend an orphan?

“In a wild, poor country
there are lots of strange muzhiks.
You can hear their joyful feet rumbling
along your roads, along your roads...”

* A muzhik, (pronounced moo-ZHEEK) is a Russian peasant This poem is about Rasputin. Feather-grass, Stribog (the ancient Slavic pagan god of the winds), and Pecheneg (a nomadic Turkic people of the central Asian plain, sometimes called Polovtsy) are allusions to the twelfth-century Tale of Igor's Men and are therefore redolent of ancient Rus, of the disastrous history of old Russia. Saint Isaac's and Kazan Cathedral are the two largest and most prominent churches in Saint Petersburg. — Ed.

Другие переводы:

  • Болгарский
    Бойко Ламбовски
    Мужик
  • Венгерский
    Иштван Бака
    Muzsik
  • Чешский
    Мария Марчанова
    Muzik

А вот еще:

Beatrice

Muses, enough, cease your sobbing, / Pour out your grief into singing, / Sing about Dante soul-stirring, / Or play the flute, play with feeling. / / Move on, annoying faun deities, / Music is dead in your screaming! / Haven’t you learned only lately / Beatrice exited Eden....

Yet All But Once

Yet all but once you’ll reminisce of me / And of my world mysterious and thrilling, / The quirky world of songs and fervency, / But among all, unique and undeceiving. / / It could have been yours also, but alas, / It was too much for you, or was too scanty, / I must have ...

Autumn

An orange-red sky... / A gusty wind shakes / The bloody cluster of rowan berries. / I chase the fleeing horse / Past the glass hothouse, / Past the trellises of the old park, / And past the swan pond. / Alongside me runs / My shaggy, red-haired dog, / Who is dearer to me / Than e...

Cain’s Descendants

He didn’t deceive us, that sad, somber spirit / Who wears the morning star as pseudonym / And said: "Shun not the highest gain, nor fear it: / Taste of the fruit and you will equal Him." / / Instantly, for the youth, all roads lay open, / And for old men, all mysteries to know, / ...

The Worker

He’s standing there, beside the glowing furnace, / A small man, probably older than you’d think. / His gaze is peaceful, seems almost submissive / From the way his reddened eyelids blink. / / All his workmates have knocked off - they’re sleeping / But he’s still ...

The Lost Tram

I was walking an obscure route / And abruptly I heard caws of crows, / A distant thunder and a tinkling lute: / A rushing tram was really close. / / How I leapt to its step / Is still a mystery to me. / It left a fiery track beyond itself / Which even in the daylight I could see. ...