R.Rozhdestvensky, Morning - Translation (Rus.) Poem by Lyudmila Purgina

Morning
by Robert Rozhdestvensky

to Vladimir Sokolov

There exists a border between night and morning,
between a dark
and an unsteady dawn,
between an illusive silence
and a wise wind...

Here it is shivering the aspen leaf,
got wet to core during the night.
It is waiting,
when the sun will rise...
In the house there the windows got well defined.
And is sleeping,
having stretched its streets,
the town,
everything in it -
from the antennas wires,
to locks,
to posters on
walls, -
are filled with waiting:
soon,
soon!
soon! ! -
do you hear? -
soon
birds will outburst with rambling,
hazes will be dissipated,
disappear...

The dark is crawling
into cellars,
under the gate dwellings,
into empty pockets,
it bends over the clocks,
gazes with its faded eyes
(though that won't rescue it) , -
talks to you with voices
of those men,
who can't bear the light.
Speaks so silently at first,
but then it boils from anger:
- People!
What's this?
You had distinguished
something, while I was near, too.
You were going
without any war with my truth,
though slowly,
but carefully...
I was purposely turning darker,
in order that you were not tormented by your conscience,
in order that you were not looking on the dirty,
in order that you were not reproaching yourself...
Was it so worse then?
Were you telling about this
in that times?
Were you masters in defining the restless colours of dawn?
You had seen in moon the image of sun.
Am I
responsible for that?

Night, keep a silence!
All the way, you couldn't outvoice
the dawn, spreading over thr half of sky.
Hush!
Morning will answer you.
Morning will speak with you.

Leave yourself
for your own flatterers,
and with such advices
don't bother us -
this man at least is perishing,
if he is hiding his desease.
... We wish to look around
and remember those,
who wasn't able to sing
their songs till the dawn...
You say, that the dirty
is not seen in you view?
We are anxious to see it!
Do you hear?
It's time to learn,
in what corners it has hided,
to look into the deformed faces of enemies,
in order to braid their hands!
In order to curtail their necks!

... The clocks have ringed on the tables.
And following them, without desire, as always,
the corridor is filled up with the scratch of doors,
in pipes a water woke up with a booming sound.

Good morning!
Are you sleeping?
Wake up quickly!
Put on the cheerful dress.
Stand up!
I'll order the birds to sing to you,
the day is coming.
The day is coming!
I like this time.
I like the life!