Расстрел
Бывают ночи: только лягу,
в Россию поплывет кровать,
и вот ведут меня к оврагу,
ведут к оврагу убивать.
Проснусь, и в темноте, со стула,
где спички и часы лежат,
в глаза, как пристальное дуло,
глядит горящий циферблат.
Закрыв руками грудь и шею, —
вот-вот сейчас пальнет в меня —
я взгляда отвести не смею
от круга тусклого огня.
Оцепенелого сознанья
коснется тиканье часов,
благополучного изгнанья
я снова чувствую покров.
Но сердце, как бы ты хотело,
чтоб это вправду было так:
Россия, звезды, ночь расстрела
и весь в черемухе овраг.
1927 г. Берлин
Владимир Набоков
The Execution
On certain nights as soon as I lie down
my bed starts drifting into Russia,
and presently I’m led to a ravine,
to a ravine led to be killed.
I wake — and in the darkness, from a chair
where watch and matches lie,
into my eyes, like a gun’s steadfast muzzle,
the glowing dial stares.
With both hands shielding breast and neck —
now any instant it will blast! —
I dare not turn my gaze away
from that disk of dull fire.
The watch’s ticking comes in contact
with frozen consciousness;
the fortunate protection
of my exile I repossess.
But how you would have wished, my heart,
that thus it all had really been:
Russia, the stars, the night of execution
and full of racemosas the ravine!
1927, Berlin
Vladimir Nabokov
Translated by Vladimir Nabokov
The Shooting
Some nights, as soon as I lie down,
I’m back in Russia in my dream;
My hands behind my back are bound
They’re taking me to the ravine.
Then I wake up, and from the chair —
Where my wrist watch always lies —
Its glowing face through darkness stares,
Like a gun muzzle in my eyes.
It’s aimed at me; now it will fire!
I cover my head and neck, aghast,
But from the dimly lighted dial
My glance away I dare not cast.
And then the rhythmic ticking sound
Calms down my benumbed mind
The fortunate exile I found
Around me is safely twined.
And yet, my heart would still desire
To make it true, this Russian scene:
The starry sky, a gunshot fired,
White hackberries in the ravine!
Vladimir Nabokov
Translated by Olga Dumer
