Lyudmila Purgina (Russian Federation)
B.Akhmadulina, September, IV - V - translation (rus.)
Our distance's darkening, impaired
there, behind us.
Well, how abundant is that present
of me to you! Stop, but -
the lover's bad to meet in such a manner.
Oh, the tenderness's expenditure a lot!
That overfeeling is exceeding levels,
what way would it at last lead, do you know?
Thus we are showered with pearls,
no any awning could that bear.
That way - we are with music shadowed,
that way - we're rained from heaven.
That way - your hands to me you're stretching,
to my face with your love.
And in that state there are the smelling
and sounds as in the evening grove.
That way - they lie their heads on grass mow,
that way - they hold their hands near breast
That way - they look upwards. That way - lose over
their lovers. Wait a little, next -
september will reply for wasting.
By will of the calendar it
will be responsible for that way -
theft from october all feels.
And we may also be guilty.
Semptember, is that end? The leaves
are falling down? But we're -
more beautiful, reliable.
Yes, we are now chanced and greately
Not to have play off. I speak now:
- My lovely, have lot of haughtiness,
be cold to all calendars, though.
Our holiday is not marked there.
We are surely outside tableau,
We're crying or then celebrating
On crest of our feast beyond.
All planned by it the workday flickers,
as sundays, in a flight.
And music plays in tamburines,
and cards are lying in the diamonds.
But how miserable was then
New Year! Separation, woe,
monotonous days in a dancing share
kept the hot air, ice was cold.
And then there was no any fir-tree.
There was the other tree - it was
the mountin ash with its red berries,
september likes that bright colour.
September's odd and skilled to be firm.
May be it will not miss us, till
we ourselves will go by purpose,
when we are able it to leave.
And it will stay aside, derelict,
the autumn will show its rags.
And boys and girls will then appear
to gather nuts in a crowd gay.
All they are cracking, cleaning bushes,
the burdocks're stiching to their dress,
and they ask: 'Why do you cry, why you? -
Why do I cry? Why drop the tears?
And then there'll be the perfect silence,
as under the water deep, in sea.
And there's the need to live the next time.
The life has habit - circumstances
are not responsible for your behaviour -
you should show the happy pair,
then make a breath in peaceful manner
and step over the line so cherished -
of blessing bluntess. But, my lovely,
don't have a sorry. Between months -
winter or autumn - we shan't feel more
that orange colour, time had passed.
Let's celebrate the last our sadness,
and break the twigs of ash-tree, I swear
twelve times in every, every year:
I live and shall live in september.
Comments about this poem (B.Akhmadulina, September, IV - V - translation (rus.) by Lyudmila Purgina )
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