June 23, 2010
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The portrait by O.Kardovskaya(1914)
My hands clasped under a veil...(1911)
My hands clasped under a veil, dim and hazy…
"Why are you so pale and upset?"
That’s because I today made him crazy
With the sour wine of regret.
Can't forget! He got out, astound,
With his mouth distorted by pain...
I, not touching the railing, ran down,
I was running to him till the lane.
Fully choked, I cried, “That's a joke --
All that was. You get out, I'll die."
And he smiled very calmly, like stroke:
"It is windy right here -- pass by."
Translated by Yevgeny Bonver, August, 2000
Edited by Orit Bonver, August 2000 The Grey-Eyed King(1910) 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..."
© Copyright, 1996
Translated by Yevgeny Bonver, August 1996 "Forgotten?"(1957) Forgotten? I’m not even wondered!
Forgotten was I hundred times,
And times, I’m in grave, were too hundred,
May be, my corps now there lies.
And Muse was too deafened and blinded,
Was rotting – a seed – in soils’ mesh,
To rise then to blue of the Highland
Like Phoenix from blackness of ash
Translated by Yevgeny Bonver, August, 2002
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