Двор - перевод Б. Пастернака
The yard
By Boris Pasternak
The finely scribbled with a hoar-frost yard!
You - as the sentence to exile
To insufficient food, sleep, plant,
Drink and the pain in nape, in particular.
Thickly scattered by the shrunken leaves,
With salt of a cooler, low-beetled!
Look, there blacken the stiches of skids
And the frozen abscess of pavement's out-picked.
Yard, have you noticed? Yesterday it turned
To go rape, today - passed through autopsy,
The wind wafts fell from the October's pawns,
And buried theirselves in the mane of horses.
Yard! This wind, as a coachman during frost,
Dashes forward, up to brows smeared
With a squeak of way, as well as to rack, in-grown
To the precipices of the booming suburbs and mills.
The hands - opened, the hooks - to back,
The figure - is distended with the khazakin's (* kaftan) cloud,
And the shout, the whistle, "Beware!", "Set back!" -
Yard! This frosty wind - as a coachmen, rather.
Yard! This wind seems to be a relative to me
With its ability from all around - to stick
To wall with such a bulletin:
"People, they love and for a work they seek!
People, there's the anger higher, than mine!
There even I bend my knees down.
People - numerous as a sea in Laplandia,
And as an ice bristles their going.
Strong to the darkness with a burning of fire!
Strong to the cold with a shoot of logs!
Their cold in books - colder than mine one,
Their revelation - darker than my thought.
With a bribe winter levies, as a baskak (* - the turkish taxman in old Russia),
The windows and stoves, but cold - in their books -
The khan's ukase (* - decree) on the waxen bricks about
The imposing of a winter yoke land through.
Let's protect from the blizzard in poems - with a fur-coat,
From skies - with a candle, and all those three-hilled -
From the breath of hopes, loaded occasionally
Onto the disobedient mob by him."
1916, 1928
By Boris Pasternak
The finely scribbled with a hoar-frost yard!
You - as the sentence to exile
To insufficient food, sleep, plant,
Drink and the pain in nape, in particular.
Thickly scattered by the shrunken leaves,
With salt of a cooler, low-beetled!
Look, there blacken the stiches of skids
And the frozen abscess of pavement's out-picked.
Yard, have you noticed? Yesterday it turned
To go rape, today - passed through autopsy,
The wind wafts fell from the October's pawns,
And buried theirselves in the mane of horses.
Yard! This wind, as a coachman during frost,
Dashes forward, up to brows smeared
With a squeak of way, as well as to rack, in-grown
To the precipices of the booming suburbs and mills.
The hands - opened, the hooks - to back,
The figure - is distended with the khazakin's (* kaftan) cloud,
And the shout, the whistle, "Beware!", "Set back!" -
Yard! This frosty wind - as a coachmen, rather.
Yard! This wind seems to be a relative to me
With its ability from all around - to stick
To wall with such a bulletin:
"People, they love and for a work they seek!
People, there's the anger higher, than mine!
There even I bend my knees down.
People - numerous as a sea in Laplandia,
And as an ice bristles their going.
Strong to the darkness with a burning of fire!
Strong to the cold with a shoot of logs!
Their cold in books - colder than mine one,
Their revelation - darker than my thought.
With a bribe winter levies, as a baskak (* - the turkish taxman in old Russia),
The windows and stoves, but cold - in their books -
The khan's ukase (* - decree) on the waxen bricks about
The imposing of a winter yoke land through.
Let's protect from the blizzard in poems - with a fur-coat,
From skies - with a candle, and all those three-hilled -
From the breath of hopes, loaded occasionally
Onto the disobedient mob by him."
1916, 1928
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