Безумных лет угасшее веселье
Мне тяжело, как смутное похмелье.
Но, как вино - печаль минувших дней
В моей душе чем старе, тем сильней.
Мой путь уныл. Сулит мне труд и горе
Грядущего волнуемое море.
Но не хочу, о други, умирать;
Я жить хочу, чтоб мыслить и страдать;
И ведаю, мне будут наслажденья
Меж горестей, забот и треволненья:
Порой опять гармонией упьюсь,
Над вымыслом слезами обольюсь,
И может быть - на мой закат печальный
Блеснет любовь улыбкою прощальной.
Александр Пушкин, 1830
The faded mirth of care-less years I've known
Weighs dully now, like a great leaden crown.
So too as wine, the sorrows of that past
Ferment with time within this soul outcast.
My path is dark. The restless seas ahead
Portend of only toil and grief to dread.
I do not want to die, I don't, oh friends;
I want to live, I want life's dreams, I want its pains.
'Tis true, amidst this sorrow, worry and fear,
I know I'll yet enjoy some pleasures dear:
Bask openly in harmony's sweet strains,
Weep tides of tears at some imagined bane,
And perhaps - in this sad final while,
Bathe warmly in the glow of love's last smile.
Extinguished gaiety of years, which sunk in madness,
Presses on me like a hangover restless.
But in my soul, foregoing pine
Becomes through time still stronger, like a wine.
My way is sad. Predicts me toil and woe -
The sea of future in a wrath and row.
But, oh, my friends, I do not want to die;
I want to live for reasoning and trial;
I know, it will come - my satisfaction
Amidst the troubles, grieves and agitation:
Sometimes I"ll sink in harmony again,
Or wet my thought with tears of joy and pain.
And maybe, else, to my nightfall, in darkness
Will love smile farewell with her former brightness.
Yevgeny Bonver, December 2001
From the elation of the years that faded,
As though from drinking, I feel wearied, jaded.
But still, the sorrow of lost years-like wine,
Grows only stronger in my soul with time.
My road is gloomy. Only work and sorrow
Are promised by the raging seas of morrow.
But, o my friends, I do not want to leave!
I want to be alive, to think and grieve;
And I predict, that I will find some pleasure
Amidst anxiety, amidst the stress and pressure.
Some day, perhaps, I'll find my harmony,
And only lukewarm tears will comfort me,
And love will flash her smile once again
In farewell to illumine my descent.
Of mad young years merriment and power
Are now hard on me like vague hangover.
But mourning of the past and grief of mine
With time are getting stronger, like old wine.
My path is sad and only toil and sorrow
Are promised by the raging sea of morrow.
And yet, my friends, I do not want to leave;
To suffer and to think, I want to live.
And I do know, happiness and joy 'll
Appear among troubles and turmoil.
About a fiction I shall shed a tear,
Revel in harmony, so clean and clear,
And love, perhaps, in my declining days,
Will smile farewell on me with tender rays.
VG, 16 июля 2014