Boris Pasternak







Boris Pasternak


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    A man out of the courtyard gapes,
    Not knowing what to say.
    Her leave was much like an escape.
    The house is disarrayed.

    There’s chaos all around the room.
    He cannot comprehend,
    Because of tears, because of gloom,
    The damage’s extent.

    He hears a ringing in his ears.
    Perhaps he’s going mad?
    How come the notion of the seas
    Is growing in his head?

    When icy windows block the light
    And one can barely see,
    The suffocating grief is like
    The desserts of the sea.

    He dearly loved all of her traits
    And he and she were close,
    Like shores are intimate with waves
    Along the whole wide coast.

    Like rushes, after passing storms,
    Can drown in the tide,
    So drowned all her features, forms,
    Within his soul that night.

    In time of conflicts, struggles, when
    His life had lost its sense,
    The wave of fortune brought her in
    To him out of the depths.

    Through obstacles, in a frenzied stir,
    From hazards they had steered.
    These waves had carried, carried her
    Until they brought them near.

    And now, she suddenly took off.
    Yes, she was overpowered!
    The parting will consume them both,
    By grief, they’ll be devoured.

    The man now overlooks the place.
    Before she left, she tossed
    Out of the cupboard in a haste
    Her dresses and her clothes.

    He wanders, and until the night,
    He folds the stuff she scattered.
    Into the drawer on the side,--
    Her scrap, her sewing patterns.

    Next to her work, he slowly kneels.
    The needle’s pointing up.
    Before him she again appears,
    And he begins to sob.


    Разлука

    С порога смотрит человек,
    Не узнавая дома.
    Ее отъезд был как побег.
    Везде следы разгрома.

    Повсюду в комнатах хаос.
    Он меры разоренья
    Не замечает из-за слез
    И приступа мигрени.

    В ушах с утра какой-то шум.
    Он в памяти иль грезит?
    И почему ему на ум
    Все мысль о море лезет?

    Когда сквозь иней на окне
    Не видно света божья,
    Безвыходность тоски вдвойне
    С пустыней моря схожа.

    Она была так дорога
    Ему чертой любою,
    Как моря близки берега
    Всей линией прибоя.

    Как затопляет камыши
    Волненье после шторма,
    Ушли на дно его души
    Ее черты и формы.

    В года мытарств, во времена
    Немыслимого быта
    Она волной судьбы со дна
    Была к нему прибита.

    Среди препятствий без числа,
    Опасности минуя,
    Волна несла ее, несла
    И пригнала вплотную.

    И вот теперь ее отъезд,
    Насильственный, быть может!
    Разлука их обоих съест,
    Тоска с костями сгложет.

    И человек глядит кругом:
    Она в момент ухода
    Все выворотила вверх дном
    Из ящиков комода.

    Он бродит и до темноты
    Укладывает в ящик
    Раскиданные лоскуты
    И выкройки образчик.

    И, наколовшись об шитье
    С невынутой иголкой,
    Внезапно видит всю ее
    И плачет втихомолку.


    Boris Pasternak, 1953
    Translated by Andrey Kneller



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