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

By Bella Akhmadulina

The extinct volcanoes are still,
The ash is falling to the bottom,
The giants there after evil
Are resting quietly, and colder,
And colder turns their land,
Too hard for their giant shoulders;
But all the same the dreams culpable
Are coming in the night to pain.
They dream about the city doomed,
The city, unaware of the fate,
And the basalt, turned to columns,
Which borders gardens as a frame.
In gardens here the girls in piles
Are grabbing flowers in bloom,
And the Bacchants give the love signs
To men, who are swilling wine
The feast is going and going
To highest level, foolish, gay,
O, daughter mine, dear Pompea,
You are the child of tzar and slave!
Being captived by the luck, what you
Had thought, about whom?
When you had proped up to Vezuvius
By your thin arms, in brave such mood?
When you had listened with delight,
And widened pupils of your eyes?
That's for to bear his hard love,
Which bursts in thunder in the night.
And he, with brows so wise,
Towards the evening time, prostrated
To your died legs, and loud cried:
'Forgive me, dear! Farewell! '