To dear Duda!

I buried love and doomed myself to be
Its monument. Above the recent grave
Upon myself I carved a dozen lines,
Beyond my strength and posthumously brave.

Love, like a runner in the marathon,
Had reached the tape but yet had lost all breath.
My love had lost the spirit and the soul
And body, lacking spirit, fell to death.

Firm as a stone, I stand amidst the graves
And all I ask is this - Let me alone!
And untoward inscriptions upon me
Do not attempt! For I am not a stone....

Konstantin Simonov

S dnem rojdeniya, rodnaya!

Happy birthday, dear Duda
(one more time)

Rain Flogs My Face

Rain flogs my face and collar-bones,
a thunderstorm roars over musts.
You thrust upon my flesh and soul,
like tempests upon ships do thrust.

I do not want, at all, to know,
what will befall to me the next –
would I be smashed against my woe,
or thrown into happiness.

In awe and gaiety elated,
like a ship, that’s going tempests through,
I am not sorry that I’ve met you,
and not afraid to love you, too.

Translated by Yevgeny Bonver


* * *

Дождь в лицо и ключицы,
и над мачтами гром.
Ты со мной приключился,
словно шторм с кораблем.

То ли будет, другое...
Я и знать не хочу -
разобьюсь ли о горе,
или в счастье влечу.

Мне и страшно, и весело,
как тому кораблю...
Не жалею, что встретила.
Не боюсь, что люблю.

1955

Bella Akhmadulina
http://www.arlindo-correia.com/140604.html

Thank you, spasibo, dear friends!


Our friendship here’s a miracle,
you and I, we
are only together a moment
till the lid opens on the sky.

Bal'mont

Love you all!

Son of a Bitch
by Sergei Yesenin

From the darkness the years flow out
Rustling noisily like a chamomile field.
There's a dog in my memory now,
She was my friend since I was kid.

Now the ardor of youth has turned quiet
Like the maple by my window turned stale,
I remember a girl dressed in white
And a dog that delivered her mail.

Many lovers' hearts keep on breaking,
But to me she was like a song,
For my notes she'd never taken
That I sent with the dog for so long.

No, my letters she'd never open,
And my handwriting she'd always shun,
But she'd stand as if for something hoping
By the guelder rose near the pond.

I was tortured... I wanted to know...
Couldn't wait for an answer... Went away...
Years have passed... Now a famous poet
Here I am by my native gates.

The old dog had died long ago,
But with the same tint of blue in his fur
And that crazed bark I so well know
Her young son now reminds me of her.

Dear God! Such a perfect resemblance!
And to my soul returns the old pain
Of those younger days' hurtful remembrance--
I could write those notes again.

This old song would again please my ear,
But don't bark, friend, don't bark in this way,
If you wish, I'll kiss you, come here,
For there's joy in my heart like in May.

I'll kiss you, I'll hug you so tight,
To my home I'll go with you,
Yes, I once liked a girl dressed in white,
Now the one that I love wears blue.

Если б счастье мое было вольным орлом,
Если б гордо он в небе парил голубом, –
Натянула б я лук свой певучей стрелой,
И живой или мертвый, а был бы он мой!

Если б счастье мое было чудным цветком,
Если б рос тот цветок на утесе крутом, –
Я достала б его, не боясь ничего,
Сорвала б и упилась дыханьем его!

Если б счастье мое было редким кольцом,
И зарыто в реке под сыпучим песком,
Я б русалкой за ним опустилась на дно, –
На руке у меня заблистало б оно!

Если б счастье мое было в сердце твоем, –
День и ночь я бы жгла его тайным огнем,
Чтобы мне без раздела навек отдано,
Только мной трепетало и билось оно.

Мирра Лохвицкая


If my happiness were a free eagle,
And proudly soared in the blue heavens,
I would pull my bow with its vibrant arrow,
And he would be mine, dead or alive.

If my happiness were a magnificent flower,
Blossoming on a steep craggy cliff,
I would reach for it, unafraid of the heights,
I would pick it and breathe and breathe its sweet aroma.

If my happiness were an antique ring,
And buried in a river under flowing sand,
A mermaid I would be and dive after it into the depths,
So it would shimmer on my hand.

If my happiness were to be locked in your heart,
Night and day I would temper it with a sacred flame,
So it belonged to me for all eternity,
So that only I would keep its beat pulsating and alive.

Mirra Lokhvitskaya


S dnem rozhdeniya, dorogaya sestrichka!
Mnogaya leta!

Duda i Slavica

"Я Люблю Тебя..."

Я люблю тебя, как море любит солнечный восход,
Как нарцисс, к волне склоненный,- блеск и холод сонных вод.
Я люблю тебя, как звезды любят месяц золотой,
Как поэт - свое созданье, вознесенное мечтой.
Я люблю тебя, как пламя - однодневки-мотыльки,
От любви изнемогая, изнывая от тоски.
Я люблю тебя, как любит звонкий ветер камыши,
Я люблю тебя всей волей, всеми струнами души.
Я люблю тебя, как любят неразгаданные сны:
Больше солнца, больше счастья, больше жизни и весны.

Мирра Лохвицкая
*****

"I love you . . ."

I love you as the sea loves the sunrise,
As Narcissus loves the glimmer and the coldness of dreamy waters.
I love you as the stars love the crescent moon,
As the poem loves its creator inspired by fancy.
I love you like the flame that attracts the moth to its Death, from exhaustive love and haunted by melancholy.
I love you as the rushes love the eager wind.
I love you with all my will, and all the strings of my soul.
I love you as I love enchanting dreams,
More than the sun itself, more than the happiness itself, more than life or the joy of spring.

Mirra Lokhvitskaya


Thank you so much!
Я вас обеих очень люблю!

It is midnight here. I was sitting very sad and lonely and started to read this thread. Long ago we all had great time, posting , translating and enjoing great russian poetry. I remembered all our friends who took part of this , I will say, pleasant project, Great job was done by my dear Slavica, Cyrano, Duda, Mella, Terra and many others, who contributed their precious time to post and read wonderful poems here. I was just wondering how we could forget about this forum and stop writing. Don't you think it would be lovely to see new poems here?
I am just thinking that in our busy life it is always good idea to read something nice, which brings pleasure, as we Russians say 'Dlya dushi' - 'For our soul'.
Wouldn't be nice to read poems from other languages and their translations in Turkish?
Once we were doing this, why not to continue that and share our favourite poems.
I will start here with one.

To the Muse

My sister Muse looked at my face,
Her gaze was clear and bright.
She took my golden ring away -
First present of that spring.
Muse! Do you see their happiness?
Girls, widows, wives.
I would rather die on the rack,
But not these bounds of iron.
Guessing, I tear the petals
From the gentle daisy flower.
All of us on this earth
Must know the torture of love.
Until dawn, my candle burns on a windowsill
And I miss no one.
But, I don't, don't, don't want to
Know how the other woman is kissed.
Tomorrow, laughing, the mirror will say
'Your gaze is not clear, not bright'
I will answer quietly: 'She took
My gift from God away.

Translated by Eric Gillan

Музе

Муза-сестра заглянула в лицо,
Взгляд ее ясен и ярок.
И отняла золотое кольцо,
Первый весенний подарок.
Муза! ты видишь, как счастливы все -
Девушки, женщины, вдовы...
Лучше погибну на колесе,
Только не эти оковы.
Знаю: гадая, и мне обрывать
Нежный цветок маргаритку.
Должен на этой земле испытать
Каждый любовную пытку.
Жгу до зари на окошке свечу
И ни о ком не тоскую,
Но не хочу, не хочу, не хочу
Знать, как целуют другую.
Завтра мне скажут, смеясь, зеркала:
'Взор твой не ясен, не ярок...'
Тихо отвечу: 'Она отняла
Божий подарок'.

10 ноября 1911
Царское Село

Anna Akhmatova