Сергей Есенин «Не жалею, не зову, не плачу…» на английском языке
* * *
Не жалею, не зову, не плачу,
Всё пройдёт, как с белых яблонь дым.
Увяданья золотом охваченный,
Я не буду больше молодым.
Ты теперь не так уж будешь биться,
Сердце, тронутое холодком,
И страна берёзового ситца
Не заманит шляться босиком.
Дух бродяжий, ты всё реже, реже
Расшевеливаешь пламень уст.
О моя утраченная свежесть,
Буйство глаз и половодье чувств.
Я теперь скупее стал в желаньях,
Жизнь моя, иль ты приснилась мне?
Словно я весенней гулкой ранью
Проскакал на розовом коне.
Все мы, все мы в этом мире тленны,
Тихо льётся с клёнов листьев медь…
Будь же ты вовек благословенно,
Что пришло процвесть и умереть.
1921
Сергей Есенин (1895—1925)
* * *
I do not regret, and I do not shed tears,
All, like haze off apple-trees, must pass.
Turning gold, I’m fading, it appears,
I will not be young again, alas.
Having got to know the touch of coolness
I will not feel, as before, so good.
And the land of birch trees, — oh my goodness!-
Cannot make me wander barefoot.
Vagrant’s spirit! You do not so often
Stir the fire of my lips these days.
Oh my freshness, that begins to soften!
Oh my lost emotions, vehement gaze!
Presently I do not feel a yearning,
Oh, my life! Have I been sleeping fast?
Well, it feels like early in the morning
On a rosy horse I’ve galloped past.
We are all to perish, hoping for some favour,
Copper leaves flow slowly down and sway…
May you be redeemed and blessed for ever,
You who came to bloom and pass away…
Sergey Esenin
Translated by Alec Vagapov
* * *
I will not weep, regret or scold.
All things pass, like smoke from the apple wood.
Consumed now by withering’s gold,
My youth has passed away for good.
And you shall beat like that no more
O heart, caught in the grip of cold.
Nor will the birch-tree country lure
My bare feet wandering as of old.
Ah, wanderlust, rarely, rarely
You agitate my mouths’ flame now.
And oh, my squandered innocence,
The bright eye and the fevered brow!
A miser now with my desires,
O life, — or did I dream of you?
As if through early spring-time fires
On a pink horse I galloped through.
We shall all perish, and the bronze
Fades silently from maple-leaves.
Then let us feel forever blessed,
Just that we chanced to flower, and died.
Sergey Esenin
Translated by Geoffrey Thurley
* * *
I have no regrets, retreats or weepings.
Smoke from white apple trees: all will go.
Gripped as I am by the gold of withering,
I will not be young again, I know.
Heart of mine, touched by the chill already.
You will not be beating anymore.
And the calico birches will never
Coax me to walk barefoot as before.
Less and less the spirit of a gypsy
Stirs my lips into some flaming fire.
O, all gone, my lost-forever freshness,
Wild eyes, floods of feelings and desire.
Now I grow more tame in my ambitions.
Life, were you dreams and no other thing.
Where I galloped by on a pink stallion
Through the echo-filled mornings of Spring?
We are transitory in this world.
Copper leaves from maple trees drift by…
So let all of us be blest forever:
All things that come here to bloom and die.
Sergey Esenin
Translated by Merrill Sparks and Vladimir Markov
Комментарии
Сергей Есенин «Не жалею, не зову, не плачу…» на английском языке — Комментариев нет
HTML tags allowed in your comment: <a href="" title=""> <abbr title=""> <acronym title=""> <b> <blockquote cite=""> <cite> <code> <del datetime=""> <em> <i> <q cite=""> <s> <strike> <strong>