Russian literature

Alexandr Blok (1880-1921)

A girl sang in the church choir…

A girl sang in the church choir
Of all who are weary in foreign lands,
Of all the ships gone out to sea,
Of all who have forgotten their joy.

Thus her voice sang, flying up to the dome,
And a ray of sun shone on her white shoulder,
And from the darkness all watched and listened
As the white dress sang in the ray.

And it seemed to all that joy would come,
That all ships had reached shelter in peaceful harbors,
That all weary people in foreign lands
Had found themselves a serene life.

And the voice was sweet, and the ray was thin,
And only above, at the altar gates,
In touch with Mystery, – a child wept
Because no one will ever return…

In taverns and winding side streets…

In taverns and winding side streets,
In an electric daydream
I sought the endlessly lovely,
The eternally smitten with speech.

The streets were drunk with screams.
There were suns in the shining vitrines.
The beauty of the women's faces!
The proud gazes of the men!

These were kings – not vagabonds!
I asked an old man by the wall:
“Did you decorate their delicate fingers
With pearls of infinite worth?

Did you give them these multicolored furs?
Did you kindle them with shafts of light?
Did you paint their crimson lips,
The bluish arches of their brows?”

But the old man did not reply,
Following after the crowd to dream.
I was left in mysterious radiance
To drink in this sparkling music…

And they just kept passing by,
In her heart each concealing a vagueness,
To fly off forever, incomparable,
Into the blue beyond.

Pair after pair flashed by…
I awaited the bright angel's coming,
When he, in the street's exultation,
Would convey one of them to heaven….

While above us, out on a dangerous ledge –
Nestled a dwarf, silently coiled,
And the tongue that spread in the sky,
Seemed a red banner to us.

In a Restaurant

I'll never forget (did it happen, or not,
That evening): the sunset's fire
Consumed and split the pale sky,
And streetlamps flared against the yellow sunset.

I sat by the window in a crowded room.
Distant bows were singing of love.
I sent you a black rose in a goblet
Of champagne, golden as the sky.

You looked up. Embarrassed and bold, I met
Your haughty gaze, gave a nod.
To your suitor, deliberately abrupt,
You said: “That one's in love, too.”

And strings rumbled in sudden answer,
Bows sang out in a frenzy…
But you were mine with all your youthful scorn
And the with the slight trembling of your hand…

You darted up like a startled bird
And passed by, light as my dream…
And your perfume wafted, your lashes drooped,
Your skirts whispered anxiously.

But from the mirror's depths you threw me a glance
And your glance shouted “Catch me!”
While rattling her necklace, a gypsy danced
And screeched about love to the sunset.

How difficult to walk among people…

There a man burned
Fet

How difficult to wander in the crowd
Pretending every day to be alive,
Recounting to the not-yet-living
The passions' tragic play.

And, peering into nightmares,
Find order in disordered swirls of feeling,
So that by art's anemic glow
They recognize life's fatal fire.

Cleopatra

The mournful waxworks has been open
For one year, two years, three years now.
An insolent and drunken crowd,
We run… The queen is waiting in her grave.

She lies inside a coffin of glass,
She's neither dead nor living,
While people whisper endlessly
Immodest words about her.

She's stretched herself out lazily –
Forgetful ever, ever sleeping…
A snake, deliberate and light,
Attacks her waxen breast…

I, too, contemptible and venal,
Blue circles underneath my eyes,
Have come to glimpse the noble face,
The wax that's bared for all to see…

Let every one examine you,
But, had your coffin not been empty,
More than once I would have heard
A proud sigh leave your rotting lips:

“Burn incense over me. And scatter flowers.
In ages long-forgotten
I was the queen in Egypt.
Now I am wax. I'm rot. I'm dust.” -

“O, Queen! I am your prisoner!
In Egypt I was but a slave,
Now fate's bestowed on me
The lot of poet and king!

Can you now see from in your coffin
How Russia, just like Rome, is drunk with you?
And that in time both I and Caesar will
Appear as equals before fate?”

I'm mute. I look. She is not listening.
But then her breast heaves slightly
She breathes beneath the gauzy cloth…
And now I hear her quiet words:

-“Back then I used to call forth storms.
And now I'll call forth burning
Tears from a drunken poet,
And laughter from a drunken whore.”

To the Muse

In your innermost songs there are hidden
Fateful tidings of death.
A curse on sacred commandments,
And a profanation of joy.

And such an alluring strength
That I'm ready to pass on the rumor
That you brought angels down
With your seductive beauty…

And when you mock faith
That dim, purplish-gray
Circle I've seen before
Suddenly blazes above you

Evil or good? – You're thoroughly alien.
People speak of you enigmatically:
For some you are Muse and miracle
For me you are torment and hell.

I don't know why, at dawn,
At the time of my last strength,
Rather than die, I caught sight of your face
And begged your consolation.

I wanted us to be enemies,
So why did you present me
With flowering meadows, the starry vault-
The curse of your beauty?

More treacherous than a northern night,
More heady than golden champagne,
And more fickle than a gypsy's love
Were your terrible caresses…

And there was a fatal delight
In flouting sacred truths,
And my heart was maddened
By this bitter, wormwood passion.

On Kulikovo Field

The river spreads out. It flows, sorrowful, lazy
And washes the banks.
Above the bare clay of the yellow cliff
Haystacks languish on the steppe.

O my Rus! My wife! Our long path
Is painfully clear!
Our path has pierced our breast like an arrow
Of ancient Tatar will.

Our path leads through the steppe, through endless yearning,
Through your yearning, O Rus!
And I do not even fear the darkness
Of night beyond the border.

Let night come. We will speed to our goal, light up
The steppe with campfires.
In the smoky reaches a holy banner will shine
Along with the Khan's steel sabre…

And the battle is eternal! We can only dream of peace
Through blood and dust…
The mare of the steppe flies on and on
And tramples the steppe grass…

And there is no end! the miles and slopes flash by…
Stop!
The frightened thunderheads approach,
The sunset bleeds!

The sunset bleeds! Blood streams from the heart!
Weep, heart, weep.
There is no peace! The mare of the steppe
Flies at full gallop!

Unknown Woman

Above the restaurants in the evenings
The sultry air is wild and still,
And the decaying breath of spring
Drives drunken shouting.

Above the dusty distant lanes
The boredom of summer homes,
The baker's gold sign barely shines
And a child's crying rings out.

Each night, beyond the crossing gates,
With bowler hats tipped rakishly,
The practiced wits stroll with the ladies
Among the drainage ditches.

Out on the lake, oarlocks creak
And a woman starts to squeal,
While up in the sky, inured to it all,
The moon's disk senselessly leers.

Each night my solitary friend
Is reflected in my glass,
Made meek and reeling, like myself,
By the mysterious, astringent liquid.

And drowsy lackeys lounge about
Beside the adjacent tables
While drunks with rabbit eyes cry out
“In vino veritas!”

And each night at a certain hour
(Or am I only dreaming it?),
A girl's figure, swathed in silk,
Moves across the misty window.

And slowly passing among the drunks,
Always alone and unescorted,
Wafting a breath of perfume and mist,
She takes a table by the window.

And an air of ancient legend
Wreaths her resilient silks,
Her hat with its funereal plumes,
And her slender ringed hand.

And entranced by this strange nearness,
I look through her dark veil,
And see an enchanted shore
And a horizon enchanted.

Deep secrets are entrusted to me,
Someone's sun is in my care,
And at every turn, astringent wine
Pierces my soul.

And drooping ostrich plumes
Waver in my brain,
And fathomless blue eyes
Bloom on the distant shore.

A treasure lies in my soul,
And the key belongs to me alone!

You are correct, you drunken fiend!
I know it: wine brings truth.

Night, street, lamp, drugstore…

Night, street, lamp, drugstore,
A dull and meaningless light.
Go on and live another quarter century –
Nothing will change. There's no way out.

You'll die, then start from the beginning,
It will repeat, just like before:
Night, icy ripples on a canal,
Drugstore, street, lamp.

Oh, yes, love is free as a bird…

“Oh, yes, love is free as a bird,”
But all the same I am yours!
And all the same I will dream
Of your figure, all aflame!

The ravening strength of your fine hands,
Your eyes saddened by betrayal
Are all the madness of my vain passion,
Are all my nights, Carmen!

Of you I will sing to the sky
Of your voice I will sing!
Like a priest, with the stars as witness,
I will perform your rite of fire!

You will rise like a stormy wave
In the river of my poems,
And I will never wash my hands
Of your perfume, Carmen…

And in the still of night, ablaze
Like a momentary flame,
I'll see the flash of your white teeth
And your persistent face.

How I am haunted by the sweet hope
That you, in a foreign land,
That you will find a moment
For secret thoughts of me.

Beyond life's storm, beyond the cares,
Beyond the sorrow of all betrayals, –
May this solemn thought arise,
Simple and white, like a road,
Like a long road, Carmen!

All valor I forgot and noble deeds

All valor I forgot and noble deeds
And glory on this grief-filled earth,
While in a simple frame your face
Glowed before me on the desk.

The hour arrived, you left the house.
I flung the cherished ring into the night.
You pledged yourself to someone else,
And I forgot your lovely face.

The days flew by, a cursed swirling swarm…
Liquor and passion tortured my existence…
I recollected you inside the church,
Called out to you as I would to my youth…

I called. You would not look around,
I wept, but you were pitiless.
Sadly you wrapped yourself in a sky blue cloak
Went out the door into the damp night.

I do not know, my sweet and tender one
Where you found shelter for your pride…
I sleep quite soundly, and I dream about the cloak
You wore, as you went out into the night…

I dream no more of tenderness or glory,
They all have passed, my youth is gone!
With my own hand I've taken off my desk
Your face, inside its simple frame.

Oh, how desperately I want to live…

Oh, how desperately I want to live:
Immortalize the real,
Personify the faceless,
Give flesh to the nonexistent!

Life's crushing dream may smother me
I may suffocate as I dream, –
And yet a lighthearted youth, perhaps
Will say of me in times to come:

Let us forgive his gloom – could it be
That it was really his secret drive?
“He's but a child of goodness and light
He's but freedom's triumph!”

I foresee You. The years pass me by…

And with longing and love you will shake off
The heavy dream of everyday consciousness.
 – V. Soloviev

I apprehend You. The years pass by -
Yet in constant form, I apprehend You.

The whole horizon is aflame – impossibly sharp,
And mute, I wait, – with longing and with love.

The whole horizon is aflame, and your appearance near.
And yet I fear that You will change your form,

Give rise to impudent suspicion
By changing Your familiar contours in the end.

Oh, how I'll fall – so low and bitter,
Defeated by my fatal dreams!

How sharp is the horizon! Radiance is near.
And yet I fear that You will change your form.

Those born in obscure years…

Those born in obscure times
Do not remember their way.
We, children of Russia's frightful years
Cannot forget a thing.

Incinerating years!, do you bring tidings
of madness or of hope?
The days of war, the days of freedom
Have left a bloody sheen on our faces.

There is a muteness – the tocsin bell
Has made us close our lips.
In our hearts, once so ardent,
There is a fateful emptiness.

Let the croaking ravens
Take flight above our deathbed –
O Lord, O Lord, may those more worthy than us,
Behold Thy kingdom!

Scythians

You are millions. We are hordes and hordes and hordes.
Try and take us on!
Yes, we are Scythians! Yes, we are Asians -
With slanted and greedy eyes!

For you, the ages, for us a single hour.
We, like obedient slaves,
Held up a shield between two enemy races –
The Tatars and Europe!

For ages and ages your old furnace raged
And drowned out the roar of avalanches,
And Lisbon and Messina's fall
To you was but a monstrous fairy tale!

For hundreds of years you gazed at the East,
Storing up and melting down our jewels,
And, jeering, you merely counted the days
Until your cannons you could point at us!

The time is come. Trouble beats its wings –
And every day our grudges grow,
And the day will come when every trace
Of your Paestums may vanish!

O, old world! While you still survive,
While you still suffer your sweet torture,
Come to a halt, sage as Oedipus,
Before the ancient riddle of the Sphinx!..

Russia is a Sphinx. Rejoicing, grieving,
And drenched in black blood,
It gazes, gazes, gazes at you,
With hatred and with love!..

It has been ages since you've loved
As our blood still loves!
You have forgotten that there is a love
That can destroy and burn!

We love all- the heat of cold numbers,
The gift of divine visions,
We understand all- sharp Gallic sense
And gloomy Teutonic genius…

We remember all- the hell of Parisian streets,
And Venetian chills,
The distant aroma of lemon groves
And the smoky towers of Cologne…

We love the flesh – its flavor and its color,
And the stifling, mortal scent of flesh…
Is it our fault if your skeleton cracks
In our heavy, tender paws?

When pulling back on the reins
Of playful, high-spirited horses,
It is our custom to break their heavy backs
And tame the stubborn slave girls…

Come to us! Leave the horrors of war,
And come to our peaceful embrace!
Before it's too late – sheathe your old sword,
Comrades! We shall be brothers!

But if not – we have nothing to lose,
And we are not above treachery!
For ages and ages you will be cursed
By your sickly, belated offspring!

Throughout the woods and thickets
In front of pretty Europe
We will spread out! We'll turn to you
With our Asian muzzles.

Come everyone, come to the Urals!
We're clearing a battlefield there
Between steel machines breathing integrals
And the wild Tatar Horde!

But we are no longer your shield,
Henceforth we'll not do battle!
As mortal battles rages we'll watch
With our narrow eyes!

We will not lift a finger when the cruel Huns
Rummage the pockets of corpses,
Burn cities, drive cattle into churches,
And roast the meat of our white brothers!..

Come to your senses for the last time, old world!
Our barbaric lyre is calling you
One final time, to a joyous brotherly feast
To a brotherly feast of labor and of peace!

The Commander's Footsteps

A thick, heavy curtain at the door,
Mist beyond the nighttime window.
Now that you know fear, Don Juan
What's your hateful freedom worth?

Cold and empty is the lavish bedroom,
Servants sleep in the still night.
From a blissful, foreign, distant land
Comes a rooster's song.

What are sounds of bliss to a betrayer
When his time is up?
Donna Anna sleeps, arms crossed above her heart,
Donna Anna's dreaming…

When his cruel features have frozen,
Echoed within mirrors?
Anna, Anna, is the grave's sleep sweet?
Is it sweet to have unearthly dreams?

Life is empty, crazy , fathomless!
Step outside to fight, old fate!
And in answer – smitten and triumphant –
A horn sounds in snowy darkness…

Splashing light into the night, a car
Rushes by, as black and quiet as an owl.
With his quiet, heavy footsteps
The Commander steps inside the house…

The door gapes. Through the excessive frost
Hoarsely like the tolling of the midnightclocks –
The hour tolls: “You called me here to dinner.
I have come. Are you prepared?..”

To this brutal question there's no answer,
There's no answer – only silence.
Frightening at daybreak is the lavish bedroom,
Servants sleep in the pale night.

Cold and strange is break of day
Night is dim at break of day.
Bride of Light! O, Donna Anna where are you,?
Anna! Anna! – only silence.

In the horrifying morning mist
The hour tolls one final time:
In your dying hour Donna Anna will arise.
Anna will arise in the hour of your death.

I am riveted to the tavern counter…

I am riveted to the tavern counter.
Long past drunk, I don't give a damn.
A sleigh has stolen my happiness
Away into the silvery smoke…

It flew off in a sleigh, is buried deep
In the snows of time, in the reaches of years…
And it only sifts over my soul,
Like a silvery mist kicked up by the hooves.

In the muffled darkness sparks fly up,
Sparks light up, light up the night…
The sleigh bells jangle on and on
Telling of happiness, of its flight…

And there is only the golden harness
Shining all night… Ringing all night…
And you, my soul… my muffled soul…
Are reeling drunk… reeling drunk…