Lyudmila Purgina (Russian Federation)
B.Pasternak, Winter - translation (rus.)
by Boris Pasternak
I'm pressing my cheek to a crator
Of the scrolled, as a snail, winter.
'Take your places, who don't wish - step aside! '
Crash and clatter, thunder of vanity.
'So 'in sea there's the waving'? - To tale it,
Which is curling as a tight plait,
Where they enter the scene without preparing?
So - to life? So - insert that to tale,
Where the end is an accident? Elsemore
All about the laughter and hubbub?
So - ain't the sea is once roaring
And calms down, besides a day's mark? '
Isn't that a buzz of a mere shell,
Or the gossips of the meek rooms?
Or it may be the quarrel with a shadow
Of the fire, who shakes the stove door?
All the sighs of the outlets rise up,
Look around- then burst into tears.
With a black snort of carrriages cut through,
A reckless driver in a white cloud is galloping.
And the unweeded snowdrifts are creeping
Over the window's parapet.
Behind the glasses of a cuprum vitriol
There was nothing and nothing does stand.
Comments about this poem (B.Pasternak, Winter - translation (rus.) by Lyudmila Purgina )
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