Tuesday, 22/06/2021 - 07:37

Alexander Sergeyevich Pushkin

Anchar

In desert, withered and burned, On ground that is dry and sultry, Anchar, alone in the world, Stands like an awful, silent sentry. The nature of the thirsty land, Has borne him on the day of terror, And flesh of roots and boughs, dead, Was filled with venom blood forever. The poison oozes through...

Angel

By gates of Eden, Angel, gentle, Shone with his softly drooped head, And Demon, gloomy and resentful Over the hellish crevasse flapped. The spirit of qualm and negation Looked at another one – of good, And fire of the forced elation First time he vaguely understood. “I’ve seen you,” he...

Arion

A lot of us were on the bark: Some framed a sail for windy weather, The others strongly and together Moved oars. In silence sunk, Keeping a rudder, strong and clever, The skipper drove the heavy skiff; And I — with careless belief — I sang for sailors… . But the stiff Whirl...

Artist

The lazy artist-boor is blacking The genius’s picture with his stuff, Without any sense a-making His low drawing above. But alien paints, in stride of years, Are falling down as a dust, The genius’s masterpiece appears With former brilliance to us. Like this, the darkly apparitions Are...

Awakening

O dreams, my dreams, Where is your sweetness? Where are you, Joy of nightly fleetness? They’re gone away – My fancies, gay, And now alone In darkness grown I, sleepless, stay. A mute night hovers My bed above In a flash lone Turned cool and gone Dreams of my love, Like a tense crowd. But...

The Bacchic Song

Why hushed you, O, gaiety’s voice? Resound, the hymns of the Bacchus! Long live they, who ever had loved us — The beautiful women and sweet, gentle girls! Let glasses be full with wines’ gold! To bottom, that rings, The sacred gold rings Let fall through the wine, sweet and cold. Raise...

The Bronze Horseman

INTRODUCTION The incident, described in this story is based on a truth. The details of the flood are taken from the contemporary magazines. The curious ones can consult the record, prepared by V. I. Berkh. PROLOGUE On a deserted, wave-swept shore, He stood – in his mind great thoughts grow –...

The Burned Letter

Farewell, Letter of Love! farewell: it’s her desire. How long did I delay! How long refused, in ire, I to destroy the single joy of mine!… Enough! The time has come. Burn, scripts of love divine. I’m ready; nothing else can call for my sad soul… Now the greedy flame is touching its form...

The Cart Of Life

Tho’ it is hard – the earthly load, The Cart is easy in its move, The reckless couch-time, on road, Will not get of his bench above. In early morn we take our places; We glad to break our empty head, And leaving leisure for the races, We cry, “Go on, you idler, damned!” At […]

The Chronicle of the Versemaker

He hears with his ear, used to do it, A whistle; He marks, by expiration lurid, The scripts; Then reads to people, very busy, His soap; Then prints – and into waves of Lethe – Plop! Translated by Yevgeny Bonver, November 9, 2003