B.Akhmadulina, The Garderner - Translation (Rus.) Poem by Lyudmila Purgina

The Garderner by Bela Akhmadulina

I don't wish the wicket's squeak noise,
I'm staying near long.
I'm stroking the guelder-rose
Along its bole sunburnt.
And, hided in green leaves merry,
I'm laughing in my fists.
Here my friend is boots repairing,
He's high, before me sitting.
Ridiculous, with thread and needle,
He couldn't suspect to know,
When I'm crying to him fiercly:
'Hello! ', and rush upon.
And he is laughing or just crying,
And, barefooted, tramples plants,
The red setter near him is dancing,
Trying to lick me with its tongue.
Forgetting of the boots in one hand,
He crawls to basement for the bottles
And gives to me from dark all them...
He's odd, the gardener, the pedagogue.
He's running, dropping spectacles around,
And with a secret look at me,
He's cleaning dust from lid of piano
With absent-minded handkerchief.
Ah, gardener, oh my unlucky!
Being a fool for neighbours good,
From the earth so many fruits you picked up,
Unedible to be a food.
I'm obedient to duty
For eating those fruits, they have
So salty, robust taste, its seeds could
Scrape with its sharp 'claws' gullet's cave.
And only I believe, that further
His gardens would be flourishing abundunt,
And after there will be fruits all over,
Thus in perfection beautifully shining.
He says: 'Imagine, that in ten years
I might get letter and from you,
And then I'll quickly write the answer...
What could you say at such a view? '
And I imagine all the apple-trees,
And can't take eyes off this canvas,
And strokes rhythmical of falling
Ripe heavy apples on the grass....
He's waving with the fork and herring,
His eyes are glittering with hunger,
And hard and salty peach is crackling
On his firm jaws, without doubt.