The Vityaz In A Tiger Skin Shota Rustaveli (N.Zabolotsky's Lane) The Introduction Poem by Yuri Starostin

Shota Rustaveli. The vityaz in a tiger skin (N.Zabolotsky's lane)


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THE INTRODUCTION

That one who founded a halo of the universe by his force,
Decorated the earth by the incomparable beauty for us.
The life-giving breath he granted to a transitory creature.
His bless face is reflected in the earth lords.

My God, you have created an uniform image of the everyone creature!
Strengthen me, lord, to shame a Satan!
Allow to burn by the midjnur fire till the last instant!
Do not punish me on the death for a former sins!

The lion, serving Tamaras-tsarinas, holds her sword and board.
To me, to the singer, what doing is to serve her?
The regal plaits on— the agates are, the heat of cheeks are brighter a lals.
That revels by the nectar who see in front the sun.

Let's sing Tamara-tsarinas, esteemed piously!
The marvellous combined hymns I were devoted to her in a past time.
The stem was a feather to me, the ink was— the agate lake.
Who listened to my creations, has been struck by the knife of the bulat.

Ordered to me to eulogise the tsarina by a new word,
To describe the eyelashes, the eyes on the agate-eye lashes face,
The pearls of her ruddy lips under a ruby cover, -
Even a stone is to break by the soft hammer of the lead!

A skill, a language and a heart are necessary to me to sing about her.
Give me a forces, an inspiration! The reason itself will serve her.
We will glorify Tariel, tearing the people,
The three ray-shine heroes, the three tested friends.

Let's sit down, brothers, and tear about unfortunate Tariel!
The grief about him by a sob spear wound the heart to me hitherto.
This ancient legend I am, whose name Rustaveli,
Has strung, as a chain of a pearls to sang about by the verses.

The love passion me, midjnur, to this story has inclined:
That woman, order the troops, is for me more light a star.
Amazed in the heart, she go, I burn in the horn fire.
If the star will not take pity, the tomb waits the mad man.

This story, brought from Iran for a long time,
Slid on an arms of a people, as a pearl grain.
To sing its by the Georgian arrange, fate to me only
For that woman, she cause, the heart is full of a sorrows.

The blinded look of the madman aspires to her perforce.
The heart, having become the midjnur, wanders in the remote field.
Let she will rescue to me a soul, betraying to a carnal pain!
How to sing to me the three heroes if a forces will not more?

That is given by the fate to someone — and that is a solace to him:
Let the worker works, the soldier cut in a battle,
Let, raving, the enamoured man learns the love privation, -
Do not judge others, if rather you are afraid a slander!

A creation of a verses is- a sort of a knowledge, ennobling the spirit.
The divine speech with the sake charms the hearing to a people.
Get the measured word, everyone is not deaf can revel.
The usual speech is vast, et a verse is short and elastic.

A long travel is served a test to the ambler,
To the player — the skilful hit is, if the ball is calculated strictly.
A point of the honour for the singer is— a breadth of the verses, a riches of a syllable.
He and himself will besiege a horse, seeing that the speech is poor.

If suddenly the speech becomes muffled in the verse,
To look to the poet and is useful and is pleasant:
Seeing his error, he will move back
And, heroically having struck in the ball, will win seriously!

Who forge a two-three rhymes, that, of course, is not the creator.
Let he does not consider himself the en-slaver of the hearts.
After all other, having thought up nonsense, will connect by the rhyme the end
And repeats, as the obstinate mule: 'Here the art sample! '

The small rhyme — the creation of the small poet,
An insignificant word does not grasp a heart.
It is a pity onions in the arms at the young shooter:
A large beasts he is afraid, beats an animals absurdly.

The small verse is sometimes suitable for a feasts, for an amusements,
For a cheerful courtesies, for a lovely jokes, for an entertainments.
If it is made smartly, it is worthy an approvals.
But the singer is only who is created for considerable creations.

It is necessary, that the poet did not waste the talent,
That he devote the persistent work to the enamored woman only.
Let she is in the skilful verses, burning, as a crystal,
Will receive an musical accords and a praises.

That woman, I glorified earlier, I continue to be proud.
I sing her assiduously, whether is to me to do it to be ashamed!
She is to me more expensive than a life, ruthless tigress.
Let, not named by me, here she will be reflected!

There is a love of the high spirit men, a reflexion of the higher beginning.
To give about it a notice, is not enough a earth language.
The gift of a heavens — often it is changed us, people,
And tormented those unfortunate men, whose soul crave its.

To explain it nor a wise man, nor a magician are not in a forces.
In vain an idle talkers tyre a hearing of a people.
But and the one who is betrayed to a fleshes, aspires to imitate it,
If he apart suffers from his beloved woman.

The arabs have called a midjnur that enamoured,
Who aspires to a perfection, as the madman frenzied.
Indeed one is exhausted, directed to a mountain heights,
And another runs to a beauties, debauched voluptuary.

The enamoured truly should be finer than a star,
A wisdom, a eloquence and force are decent for him,
He is rich, magnanimous, he is always fulfilled a heat...
Those are not counted, whom the nature has deprived these valours.

The love essence is always fine, inconceivable and true,
It does not equal with any adultery:
A fornication -is one, the love -is another, the wall are divided its.
To the person has not stuck to confuse these names.

The customs of a midjnur are constant: he is not a couple to a fornicator,
He is true to the beloved woman and grieves for her in a separation.
Be the favourite woman is severe - whatever he is happy her...
I do not mind a love in a fleeting kisses.

To call by the love a these eccentrical jokes are not valid .
A man to blow a wind have the one joke, then the other one sign up.
To dally so carelessly only a bad children can.
The debt of a midjnur: if it is necessary, to forget about all of the world.

The enamoured midjnur have the unique law only:
Concealed his suffers, he dreams on the favourite.
He burns in a separation, is boundless in the ecstasy,
Submits submissively to that woman, he is enamoured that.

The secret of the wounded heart he is not opened to another,
He will not want to dishonour the favourite in an empty way,
He hides a feelings, he does not go to her house,
He esteems this sweet languor for a happiness.

It is difficult to trust in the person if he mutters about the darling woman.
He brings the hurt to himself- what he strives in vain on?
What is, to he will glorify the darling woman, if then he discredits?
Why he wants cause a suffer to the heart of the darling woman?

I will not understand: what is, to a pretence involves a mad man?
If he does not love the maiden, unless there is no an outcome for him?
Why he wants to soil her in the look of the people?
But the malicious word for the villain is more sweet of any sugar and honey!

The crying of the midjnur about the favourite is— an adornment, is not a fault.
Long time him roams on the world are to esteem.
And the one woman eternally reigns in his soul, and in the heart,
But the love of the midjhur should not to open for a crowd.