Treasure Island

Yuri Starostin

(4.07.1972.)

And I Have Thought, The Guilty Person By Rasul Gamzatov


* * *
And I have thought, the guilty person,
That, wasted own years,
I live, appropriating a stranger century.

Time by time I thought about it and earlier,
As though repenting on a ridges of times.
Is not a cause that a crane wedge
Blew farewell over me in a fog?

Whether I wandered by the canyon forgotten,
Whether the stream I saw that has withered in a heat,
Whether the hunter I was met with the killed
Deer not cooled down on a shoulders.

Whether looked at a sundown -wing fire,
A fire wood an incinerating is not for a first time,
Whether I stood before a brother tomb,
As fore with a guilty head.

To me poets were again remembered,
That have not reached Lermountov years,
But a songs that are once sung by them,
Are amazed a light still until now.

And can, I took their hard wings
And a word that becomes related with a height,
As others have married their brides,
Having ringed under a wedding veil?

And it was thought to me,
to a worthy a freedom,
A resignation of the words and an unruliness of the rivers,
That, having spent own years as the days,
I live, appropriating the stranger century.

Neither therefore other hopes of a live
A sweet to me is one - to die in a honour.
Before a memory of a victims I am in the answer,
The executor of a disappeared in a way.

J.Kozlovskogo's lane

Rasul Gamzatov. The Final price.
Moscow: the Contemporary,1979.
* * *
И я подумал, грешный человек,
Что, промотавший собственные годы,
Живу, чужой присваивая век.

Не раз об этом думал я и ране,
Как будто каясь на хребтах годин.
Не оттого ль, что надо мной в тумане
Трубил прощально журавлиный клин?

Бродил ли я ущелием забытым,
Ручей ли видел, что в жару зачах,
Охотника встречал ли я с убитым
Оленем неостывшим на плечах.

Смотрел ли на огонь закатнокрылый,
Дрова испепелявший не впервой,
Стоял ли перед братскою могилой,
Как будто бы с повинной головой.

Мне снова вспоминалися поэты,
Что не достигли лермонтовских лет,
Но песни, что когда-то ими спеты,
Еще поныне изумляли свет.

А может, взял я крылья их тугие
И слово, что роднится с высотой,
Как взяли в жены их невест другие,
Окольцевав под свадебной фатой?

И мнилось мне,
достойному свободы,
Покорства слов и непокорства рек,
Что, словно дни свои растратив годы,
Живу, чужой присваивая век.

Не потому ль других надежд на свете
Милей одна мне - умереть в чести.
Пред памятью погибших я в ответе,
Душеприказчик сгинувших в пути.

Пер. Я.Козловского

Расул Гамзатов. Последняя цена.
Москва: Современник,1979.

Submitted: Wednesday, November 27, 2013
Edited: Wednesday, November 27, 2013

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