Hello Cyrano,
Thank you for the "Terek".You made my day.

SILENTIUM!

Molchi, skrivaysya i tai
I chuvstva i mechti svoi-
Puskay v dushevnoy glubine
Vstayut i zakhodyat one
Bezmolvno, kak zvezdi v nochi,-
Lyubuysya imi i molchi.

Kak serdcu viskazat sebya?
Drugomu kak ponyat tebya?
Poymet li on, chem ti jivesh?
Misl izrechennaya est loj'.
Vzrivaya, vozmutish klyuchi,-
Pitaysya imi - i molchi.

Lish jit v sebe samoy umey-
Est' tseliy mir v dushe moey
Tainstvenno- volshebnikh dum;
Ikh oglushit narujniy shum,
Dnevnie razgonyat luchi,-
Vnimay ikh penyu - i molchi!..

Tyutchev

Fyodor Tytchev
"I Love your eyes..."

Люблю глаза твои, мой друг,
С игрой их пламенно-чудесной,
Когда их приподымешь вдруг
И, словно молнией небесной,
Окинешь бегло целый круг...

Но есть сильней очарованья:
Глаза, потупленные ниц
В минуты страстного лобзанья,
И сквозь опущенных ресниц
Угрюмый, тусклый огнь желанья.

Lyublyu glaza tvoi, moy drug
S igroy ikh plamenno-chudesnoy,
Kogda ikh pripodimesh' vdrug
I, slovno molniey nebesnoy,
Okinesh' beglo tseliy krug...

No est silney ocharovanya:
Glaza, potuplennie nits
V minuti starastnogo lobzanya,
I skvoz' opushennikh resnic
Ugryumiy, tuskliy ogn' jelanya.



Последняя любовь ( Last Love )

О, как на склоне наших лет
Нежней мы любим и суеверней...
Сияй, сияй, прощальный свeт

Любви последней, зари вечерней!

Полнеба обхватила тень,
Лишь там, на западе, бродит сиянье, -
Помедли, помедли, вечерний день,
Продлись, продлись, очарованье.

Пускай скудеет в жилах кровь,
Но в сердце не скудеет нежность...
О ты, последняя любовь!
Ты и блаженство и безнадежность.

Лето 1854 ( Summer 1854 )

O, kak na sklone nashikh let
Nejney mi lyubim i sueverney...
Siyay, siyay, proshalniy svet
Lyubvi posledney, zari vecherney!

Polneba obkhvatila ten',
Lish' tam na zapade, brodit siyanye,-
Pomedli, pomedli, vecherniy den',
Prodlis', prodlis', ocharovanye.

Puskay skudeet v jilakh krov',
No v serdtse ne skudeet nejnost'..
O ti, poslednyaya lyubov'!
Ti i blajenstvo i beznadejnost'.


* * *

Есть в осени первоначальной
Короткая, но дивная пора -
Весь день стоит как бы хрустальный,
И лучезарны вечера...

Где бодрый серп гулял и падал колос,
Теперь уж пусто все - простор везде, -
Лишь паутины тонкий волос
Блестит на праздной борозде.

Пустеет воздух, птиц не слышно боле,
Но далеко еще до первых зимних бурь -
И льется чистая и теплая лазурь
На отдыхающее поле...

Est v oseni pervonachalnoy
Korotkaya , no divnaya pora-
Ves den' stoit kak bi khrustalniy,
I luchezarni vechera...

Gde bodriy serp gulyal i padal kolos
Teper' uj pusto vse - prostor vezde,-
Lish' pautini tonkiy volos
Blestit na prazdnoy borozde.

Pusteet vozdukh, ptits ne slishno bole,
No daleko esho do pervikh zimnikh bur'-
I lyetsya chistaya i teplaya lazur'
Na otdikhayushee pole...

Cyrano, I promised to write in latin.
Enjoy...

And I lie wordless at the feet

And I lie wordless at the feet
Of her who is my heart's desire,
My secret love; a whitewinged fire
Swift storms across the threshold sweep...

What pain, what sweet delight, what bliss
To speak your tender name, to kiss
Your train by stealth, near you to linger
While blizzards sing, while loudly sing they!..

In its dark prison ceil benighted,
The heart in drunken rapture reels.
Cold, snowy blooms your lashes lightly,
Your peaceful, silk-soft lashes seal.

Like one by wild winds overpowered
That as he runs begin to blow,
I seem to see a lifeless flower
Before me rise from out the snow...

And oft, however sadly, gently,
The name of my Snow Maiden slips
Like soft snow from a frozen petal
In secret from my trembling lips.

Alexandr Blok

* * *
И я опять затих у ног - Блок A.A.

И я опять затих у ног -
У ног давно и тайно милой,
Заносит вьюга на порог
Пожар метели белокрылой...

Но имя тонкое твое
Твердить мне дивно, больно, сладко...
И целовать твой шлейф украдкой,
Когда метель поет, поет...

В хмельной и злой своей темнице
Заночевало, сердце, ты,
И тихие твои ресницы
Смежили снежные цветы.

Как будто, на средине бега,
Я под метелью изнемог,
И предо мной возник из снега
Холодный, неживой цветок...

И с тайной грустью, с грустью нежной,
Как снег спадает с лепестка,
Живое имя Девы Снежной
Еще слетает с языка

* * *
I ya opyat zatikh u nog-
U nog davno i tayno miloy,
Zanosit vyuga na porog
Pojar meteli belokriloy...

No imya tonkoe tvoe
Tverdit' mne divno, bolno,
sladko...
I tselovat' tvoy shleyf
ukradkoy,
Kogda metel' poet, poet...

V khmelnoy i zloy svoey temnitse
Zanochevalo, serdtse, ti
I tikhie tvoi resnitsi
Smejili snejnie tsveti.

Kak budto, na sredine bega,
Ya pod metelyu iznemog,
I predo mnoy voznik iz snega
Kholodniy, nejivoy tsvetok...

I s taynoy grustyu
nejnoy,
Kak sneg spadaet s lepestka,
Jivoe imya Devi Snejnoy
Esho sletaet s yazika...

Thank you bliss. Now I (or we) can see the rhyme in the poems, and thus, get a bit the melody of lines even if I(we) can't understand what is said.

Take these lines, for example:

Puskay skudeet v jilakh kROV',
No v serdtse ne skudeet nej-n-o-s-t'..
O ti, poslednyaya lyuBOV'!
Ti i blajenstvo i beznadej-n-o-s-t'.

or

Gde bodriy serp gulyal i padal kOLOS
Teper' uj pusto vse - prostor vez-d-e,-
Lish' pautini tonkiy vOLOS
Blestit na prazdnoy boroz-d-e.

I belive you saw what I meant.

Hello Syrano,
Yes, I understood what you say.
You are talking about rhymes(riphma-in russian).
Greetings

it was pleasure to read this topic i would like to add poems of wonderful and my favoirute poetess Ahmatova. i think her lyric poetry can touch any heart.unfortanately im not good at english.bliss may be you know where is i can find translation of her poems?

* * *
Дверь полуоткрыта,
Веют липы сладко...
На столе забыты
Хлыстик и перчатка.

Круг от лампы желтый...
Шорохам внимаю.
Отчего ушел ты?
Я не понимаю...

Радостно и ясно
Завтра будет утро.
Эта жизнь прекрасна,
Сердце, будь же мудро.

Ты совсем устало,
Бьешься тише, глуше...
Знаешь, я читала,
Что бессмертны души.

* * *
Широк и желт вечерний свет,
Нежна апрельская прохлада.
Ты опоздал на много лет,
Но все-таки тебе я рада.

Сюда ко мне поближе сядь,
Гляди веселыми глазами:
Вот эта синяя тетрадь -
С моими детскими стихами.

Прости, что я жила скорбя
И солнцу радовалась мало.
Прости, прости, что за тебя
Я слишком многих принимала.

* * *
Двадцать первое. Ночь. Понедельник.
Очертанья столицы во мгле.
Сочинил же какой-то бездельник,
Что бывает любовь на земле.

И от лености или со скуки
Все поверили, так и живут:
Ждут свиданий, боятся разлуки
И любовные песни поют.

Но иным открывается тайна,
И почиет на них тишина...
Я на это наткнулась случайно
И с тех пор все как будто больна.

Анна Ахматова

Hello, Terra

Welcome to the club of Russian poetry lovers
Thank you so much for posting amazing poems of Anna Akhmatova.
She's one of the greatest world poetesses, and my favourite too.

Here you have couple of links for translated poems of Akhmatova:

http://www.poetryconnection.net/poets/Anna_Akhmatova

http://www.poetryloverspage.com/poets/akhmatova/akhmatova_ind.html

http://www.allspirit.co.uk/anna.html

This is translation of one of the poems you posted. I'll try to find another too.

Anna Akhmatova
Twenty-First. Night. Monday

Twenty-first. Night. Monday.
Silhouette of the capitol in darkness.
Some good-for-nothing -- who knows why --
made up the tale that love exists on earth.

People believe it, maybe from laziness
or boredom, and live accordingly:
they wait eagerly for meetings, fear parting,
and when they sing, they sing about love.

But the secret reveals itself to some,
and on them silence settles down...
I found this out by accident
and now it seems I'm sick all the time.


And this is my contibution:

The Grey-Eyed King

Hail! Hail to thee, o, immovable pain!
The young grey-eyed king had been yesterday slain.

This autumnal evening was stuffy and red.
My husband, returning, had quietly said,

"He'd left for his hunting; they carried him home;
They'd found him under the old oak's dome.

I pity the queen. He, so young, past away!...
During one night her black hair turned to grey."

He found his pipe on a warm fire-place,
And quietly left for his usual race.

Now my daughter will wake up and rise --
Mother will look in her dear grey eyes...

And poplars by windows rustle as sing,
"Never again will you see your young king..."
1910

White Night

I haven't locked the door,
Nor lit the candles,
You don't know, don't care,
That tired I haven't the strength
To decide to go to bed.
Seeing the fields fade in
The sunset murk of pine-needles,
And to know all is lost,
That life is a cursed hell:
I've got drunk
On your voice in the doorway.
I was sure you'd come back.
1911.

slavica thanks a lot for your linksim really glad that you also love Akhmatova. i have found good translation of my favourite poem "Muse"but it seemed to me that her poems don't sound so heartfelt on english like something loses..don't you think so? i didn't find translation of this poem and i don't image how it can be translated perfectly

***
Углем наметил на левом боку
Место, куда стрелять,
Чтоб выпустить птицу - мою тоску
В пустынную ночь опять.

Милый! не дрогнет твоя рука,
И мне недолго терпеть.
Вылетит птица - моя тоска,
Сядет на ветку и станет петь.

Чтоб тот, кто спокоен в своем дому,
Раскрывши окно, сказал:
"Голос знакомый, а слов не пойму", -
И опустил глаза.

1914

Dear Terra

I absolutely agree with you about translated poetry - translation never can completely express spirit of original. I think that especially Russian poetry lose a lot translated to english (or any other language, except, maybe, some of slavonic languages), since its soul lays in harmony of words.
But what can we do? Not everyone has luck to know Russian an be able to read Russian poetry in original version. And I conceive our duty to introduce Russian non-speakers to great Russian poetry.

Unfortunately, I couldn't find translation of poem you posted, but I found links for two new, very good web sites with translated poetry of Akhmatova. I hope you'll enjoy them.

http://www.tonykline.co.uk/PITBR/Russian/Akhmatova.htm
http://www.poemhunter.com/anna-akhmatova/resources/poet-6765/page-1/

And this is my choice for today:

* * *
Н.В.Н

Есть в близости людей заветная черта,
Ее не перейти влюбленности и страсти,-
Пусть в жуткой тишине сливаются уста
И сердце рвется от любви на части.

И дружба здесь бессильна и года
Высокого и огненного счастья,
Когда душа свободна и чужда
Медлительной истоме сладострастья.

Стремящиеся к ней безумны, а ее
Достигшие - поражены тоскою...
Теперь ты понял, отчего мое
Не бьется сердце под твоей рукою.
2 мая 1915, Петербург


* * *

There's a secret border in human closeness,
that love’s being, love’s passion, cannot pass –
though lips are sealed together in sacred silence,
though hearts break in two with love’s distress.

And friendship too is powerless, and years
of sublime flame-filled ecstasy
when the soul itself is free, fights clear,
of the slow languor of sensuality.

Those who try to reach that boundary are mad,
and those who have – are filled with anguish.
Now you know, now you understand,
why my heart won’t beat at your caress.
1915

By the way, maybe someone could post here some of Akhmatova's poems translated to Turkish?
Cyrano, we count on you

Hello my friends,
Dobro pojalovat dorogaya Terra!
Slavica already told me about you and I am glad to welcome you here, in our lovely site.I know for sure you will enjoy.
I am sorry I did not answer your question but I am glad my dear sestrichka did it.Thank you , angel.
I read the posts and totally agree with you.

And this is for you.

THE LORD IS NOT MERCIFUL

The Lord is not merciful to repairs and gardeners.
A ringing rain slants down
And wide cloaks are going to color
The sky reflected in the water.

There's underwater kingdom of meadows and cornfields,
And undulating streams sing out, sing out,
On the swelling branches plums are bursting
And flattened grasses rot.

And through the dense scrim of water
I see your dear face,
The hushed park, the Chiniese Pavilion
And circular porch of the house.

******

I WILL LEAVE YOUR WHITE HOUSE

I will leave your white house and tranquil garden.
Let life be empty and bright.
You and you, I shall glorify in my poems,
As a woman has never been able to do.
And you remember the beloved
For whose eyes you created this paradise,
But I deal in rare commodities-
I sell your love and tenderness.

*******

AH, YOU THOUGHT

Ah -- you tought I'd be the tipe
You could forget,
And that praying and sobbing, I'd through myself
Under the hooves of a bay.

Or I would beg from the witches
Some kind of root in charmed water
And send you a terrible gift -
My intimate, scented handkerchief.

Dammed if I will. Neither by glance nor by groan
Will I touch your cursed soul,
But I vow to you by the garden of angels,
By the miraculous icon I vow
And by the fiery passion of our nights -
I will never return to you.

ANNA AKHMATOVA

Greetings folks!

Terra, this poem is for you:

MUSE

When, in the night, I wait for her, impatient
Life seems to me, as hanging by a thread
What just menas liberty, or youth, or approbation,
When compared with the gentle piper’s thread?

And she came in, threw out the mantle’s edges,
Declined to me with a sincere heed.
I say to her, "did you dictate the Pages
Of Hell to Dante?" She answers, "Yes, I did."

Translated by Yevgeny Bonver

And these are from me:

I DON'T KNOW IF YOU'RE ALIVE OR DEAD

I don't know if you're alive or dead.
Can you on earth be sought,
Or only when the sunsets fade
Be mourned serenely in my thought?

All is for you: the daily prayer,
The sleepless heat at night,
And of my verses, the white
Flock, and of my eyes, the blue fire.

No-one was more cherished, no-one tortured
Me more,not
Even the one who betrayed me to torture,
Not even the one who caressed me and forgot.

BİLMİYORUM, YAŞAMAKTA MISIN,ÖLDÃœN MÃœ?

Bilmiyorum,yaşamakta mısın,öldün mü?
Dünyada bir yerlerde bulabilir miyim seni
Yoksa,akşamın yaslı karanlığında
Bir ölüyü mü düşÃ¼nmeli...

Her şey senin için:Gün boyunca dualarım.
Uyuşturan ateşi uykusuz gecelerin;
Şiirlerimin beyaz sürüsü,
Ve mavi yangını gözlerimin...

Hiç kimse daha yakın olmadı bana,
Hiç kimse böylesine üzmedi beni,
Acıya salıp gidenler bile,
Okşayıp bırakanlar hatta.

(çeviren:Ataol Behramoğlu)

THE LAST TOAST

I drink to home, that is lost,
To evil life of mine,
To loneness in which we’re both,
And to your future, fine, --

To lips by which I was betrayed,
To eyes that deathly cold,
To that that the world is bad and that
We were not saved by God.

1934

Translated by Yevgeny Bonver

SON KADEH

Yıkılmış yuvama kaldırıyorum kadehimi
Kin , öfke dolu hayatıma
Yalnızlığına ikimizin
ve sana kaldırıyorum.

Yalanına bana ihanet eden dudaklarımın
Gözlerindeki ölü soğukluğuna
Hayatın bu kadar acımasız , kaba oluşuna
Ve kurtarmamasına bizi tanrının

1934

And this is my favourite, but I couldn't its English translaiton.

AYNI BARDAKTAN

Aynı bardaktan içmeyeceğiz,
Ne suyu,ne tatlı şarabı,
Şafakta öpüşmeyeceğiz
Ve akşam çöktüğünde pencereden bakmayacağız.

Sen güneşle soluklanıyorsun ben ay ile
Ama aynı aşkla yanıyoruz ikimiz de.

Benim yanımda sadık,sevgili yarim,
Senin yanında neşeli eşin,
Ama okuyorum gri gözlerindeki korkuyu
Çünkü sensin acım.
O arada bir buluşmalarımız bundan böyle
Daha bir aradabir olsun.
Gönlümüz rahat olsun,o zavallı gönlümüz.

Şiirlerimde yalnız senin sesin var
Senin şiirlerinde,biliyorum benim soluğum esiyor
Ah bir ateş ki cesareti yok
Ne unutuşa,ne korkuya dokunmaya...
Bir bilsen nasıl seviyorum şu an
O kuru dudaklarını,gül rengi!

(çev: Güneş Acar)