«Лиличка! Вместо письма» Маяковского в переводах на английский язык

Lilichka!

(Instead of a letter)

Tobacco smoke eats the air away.
The room,-
a chapter from Kruchenykh’s Inferno.
Recall,-
by the window,
that day,
I caressed you ecstatically, with fervor.
Here you sit now,
with your heart in iron armor.
In a day,
you’ll scold me perhaps
and tell me to leave.
Frenzied, the trembling arm in the gloomy parlor
will hardly be able to fit the sleeve.
I’ll rush out
and hurl my body into the street,-
distraught,
lashed by despair
and sadness.
There’s no need for this,
my darling,
my sweet.
Let’s part tonight and end this madness.
Either way,
my love is
an arduous weight,
hanging on you
wherever you flee.
Let me bellow out in the final complaint
all of my heartbroken misery.
A laboring bull, if he had enough,
will leave
and find cool water to lie in.
But for me,
there’s no sea
except for your love,-
from which even tears won’t earn me some quiet.
If an elephant wants to relax, he’ll lie,
pompous, outside in the sun-baked dune,
Except for your love,
there’s no sun
in the sky
and I don’t even know where you are and with whom.
If you thus tormented another poet,
he
would trade in his love for money and fame.
But
nothing sounds as precious to me
as the ringing sound of your darling name.
I won’t drink poison,
or jump to demise,
or pull the trigger to take my own life.
Except for your eyes,
no blade can control me,
no sharpened knife.
Tomorrow you’ll forget
that it was I who crowned you,
who burned out the blossoming soul with love
and the days will form a whirling carnival
that will ruffle my manuscripts and lift them above…
Will the dry autumn leaves of my sentences
cause you to pause,
breathing hard?

Let me
pave a path with the final tenderness
for your footsteps as you depart.

Vladimir Mayakovsky
Translation by Andrey Kneller

Lilichka!

Instead of a letter

Tobacco smoke corroded the air.
The room —
is a chapter in Kruchenykh’s hell.
Remember —
this window,
Here
I stroked your hands in a frenzy.
Well,
Your heart encased in iron.
Reviling,
You’ll throw me out, perhaps,
one day.
My arm will break out in tremor,
while I
fight with the sleeve
in your dim doorway.
Lashed by despair I’ll run out.
I’ll become frantic
hurling my body into the street.
Don’t let this happen,
dearest, beloved.
Let’s say good-by now
and then let’s split.
I know,
my love,
it’s a heavy burden
and weighs you down
wherever you run.
Wait!
Let me bellow out all words in —
one last cry of bitter complaint.
If an ox is exhausted by hard work —
it goes off
to lie down in cool sea water
to relieve the pain.
Apart from your love
there is no harbor,
and even through tears —
no respite from you to obtain.
When a tired regal elephant
craves rest,
it lies down in the scorched sand.
Apart from your love
there is no sun for me. The best
knowledge is not to guess
where and with whom you are. And
if she can so wear a poet
down,
he would gladly trade her for
money and fame,
to me — there is no such joyful sound
but that of your beloved name.
I won’t throw myself down
in the stair-well —
when your face is dour —
nor drink poison
nor press the trigger
to my breast.
Except
for your gaze,
nor razor has any power,
except
for your hands
there is no rope my neck to caress.
Tomorrow you will have forgotten
that I crowned you,
and burnt out a blossoming soul
with my love,
and the blasted carnival
of the fussy autumn
will ruffle my books
with a thunderlike laugh…
Will the dry leaves of my words
make you pause,
just for a second,
gasping for breath?
Let me at least,
lay the path for your,
callous,
departing steps
with the last tenderness.

Vladimir Mayakovsky
Translated by Alex Sitnitsky