Here, some my translations from Russian are presented

Boris Pasternak

Sergey Yesenin, Famous Russian poet, 1895-28.12.1925, wrote this poem day before committing suicide

 Goodbye, my friend, goodbye,

Darling, you are in my heart.

Our departing was prescribed

But it promises meeting in the front.

 

Goodbye, my friend, without arm, without word,

Donít sadden brows and donít grieve.

Itís not new to die in this world,

But, of course, itís not newer to live.

 

Translated by Alexander Chefranov, 6.07.2005

Thanks to Dr Z. Bayram for valuable comments, 08.12.2005

 

Boris Pasternak, famous Russian poet, 1890-1960, Nobel prize laureate in literature in 1958

Boris Pasternak, "In everything I want to find..", 1956

Boris Pasternak, 1946

 Winter Night

 It swept, swept over earthís lanes,

In each its angle.

The candle was burning on the tableís plane,

It was burning, the candle.

 

As lots of myriads summer flies

That fly to flame,

Snowflakes from around nearby

Flew to windowís frame.

 

Snowstorm and frost shaped on the pane

Arrows and angles.

The candle was burning on the tableís plane,

It was burning, the candle.

 

On slightly lightened ceilingís parts

Shadows were seen,

From crossing legs and crossing arms,

The destinies crossing.

 

And with a sound two worn shoes

Fell both down,

The night lampís wax by tears flew

And dropped on gown.

 

And disappeared hazed terrain

In snow mangling.

The candle was burning on the tableís plane,

It was burning, the candle

 

They blew on candle, all the winds,

And flame of passion

Upraised as angel both wings,

In cross-like fashion.

 

It swept in February every day,

And in this tangle

The candle was burning on the tableís plane,

It was burning, the candle.

 Translation from Russian by Alexander Chefranov, 15.06.2005

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Boris Pasternak, 1956

 

In everything I want to find

Its stone angle

In job, in search of guide,

In the heart tangle

 

Find essence of the flowed days

And their reasons

Find their grounds, their ways

And core decisions

 

And always catching guiding line

Of lives, and actions,

To know, think, feel, love,

Perform inventions

 

Oh, if it were in ability of mine,

At least, for fragments,

Then I should write eight lines

On passion basements

 

On crimes, and sins,

Escapes and races,

Rush and not wanted things,

Elbows, wrestles

 

Its law I should derive, obtain

Its foundations

And constantly repeat its names

Abbreviations

 

I should plan poems as garden

By all veins trembles

Lime-trees would flower in them

In turn, as one ensemble

 

In poems I should insert breath of rose,

Mintsí flavor,

Cut grasses smell in meadows,

Stormsí endeavor

 

So, long ago Chopin succeeded to implement

Live beauties

Of  parks, groves, gravesí monuments

In his etudes

 

Reached recordís

Play and glow Ė

Strained cord

Of tight bow

 

Translated by Alexander Chefranov from Russian 30.06.2005

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