the bleak stars, the twilight stars.
You shed your silver light on faded plains,
drowsy bays and dark mountaintops.
I love your shimmering light high in the vault of the sky,
which awakens sleeping thoughts in my mind.
Familiar stars, in that quiet land,
I remember, how you rose.
How dear are the scenes there:
The aspens rise in the valleys, the soft myrtle, the
lush cypress, graceful in the wind.
Southern waves clamor sweetly.
Filled with the sorrows of my heart,
I spend my decadent hours in misery on yonder hill, opposite the sea
.
Whenever the dark shadows of the night climbed up to the roofs of the village,
the young girl searched for you in the night,
and called you out as if you were her own girlfriend.
--Pushkin (translated by Feng Chun)
The rolls of white clouds sped on, cracking the blue sky,
O star of care, Venus of dusk!
Thou hast shed thy silver light upon the withered plains,
the blackened mountain rocks, and the slumbering bays of the river.
I love your faint light in the vault of heaven,
which rouses my long-slumbering thoughts.
I remember, O familiar star, to see thee rise
In the warm country of all that is pleasant,
There, in the valleys stand the long aspens,
Sleeping the gloomy cypresses, the gentle myrtle,
And the waves of the southern sea are clamoring merrily.
On those mountains I have wistfully cherished thoughts
To the sea, and wiled the hours lazily away,
When the dark shadows of night crept into the village house-
The young girl is seeking you in the gloom,
And she calls to her mate by her own name.
--Pushkin (translated by Zha Liang Zheng)
I imagine
the Russian blizzard
the poet's solitary thoughts in the oak forest
those deep eyes
Is it ever so cold in Petersburg in the winter
the village of Sansan Mistress
Do you remember the youth's handsomeness
Welcome me again
I, too, will seek the ancient linden tree
Following the winds
Listen to the sunset tell the seasons to the hillside
When I see you in poetry
The look of the Greek maiden
The lilting of harps that carry Tune
To break the heart
You once lit the sun of Russian poetry
So much so that to this day
No one dares to repeat such a cadence
Reverence stands in the heart
Great ones
Far away in song behind the trees
Leaving behind them the footsteps of the written word
Line by line
The roar of Tsar Alexander I
Sending the wanton boy to hard labor
Spring may be brighter in Petersburg and Moscow than in the south
Memories of 1825
The winter of the blood-stained winter
Ideals and justice twisted by sin
The winds of Siberia oh
The bewildering O blowing
The pen in the poet's hand does not stop because of coercion
Eulogizing the pioneers of the Revolution
is above the true meaning of love and beauty
In 1830
The birth of Yevgeny Onegin
It is the poet's searing pen
that rescues and guides the shriveled life of youth
Lifting the mists above Russia
Let the sun of truth
Light up the world of ignorance
If you read those chapters carefully
You'll see the figure of an ambulatory writer
The beam of a horse-lamp
Brightens the heart of every reader
When a carefully planned plot
Is carried out
The enemy's sword is used to destroy the world.
The enemy's sword pierced the poet's heart
I do not know
whether the sword saw
poetry hidden in blood
a treasure trove full of sources
pierced by ignorance
It was the sorrow of 1837
that shocked and resented the masses of Russia
and the vast expanse of the Russian people. p>
And the vast land
Tears like the cries of the Volga
Rolling hot
Still in the tones of sobbing
Silence
A century lost
His name long ago spread far and wide
Even if there is only one poet by the light of the moon
Worthy of being chanted
And only
He
Napoleon
Wonderful fate has ended,
Great men's stars perish,
Napoleon's harsh times,
have sunk inexorably.
Passed away, the pride of victory,
The ruler who suffered judgment,
who was banished by all the world,
has been the hour of the rise of future generations.
The memory of him stained with pools of blood,
will long be spread over the world,
Here the name of valor shelters thee,
Resting in the vastness of the smoke and the waves of the sea ......
How majestic and magnificent is this mausoleum,
On the bier that housed thy mortal remains,
The hatred of the people is extinguished,
while the light of immortality shines.
How long have
your hawks and vultures flown over the land of humiliation?
How many kingdoms have fallen one after another,
and let the thunderbolt brutality destroy them.
Driven by the forces of destiny,
with war flags wailing and plagues flowing,
you have placed the heavy yoke of tyranny
on the shoulders of the children of the earth.
When the world awoke from slavery,
When the haze of hope shone,
The Gauls, with the giant hand of wrath,
Overthrew the idols of decay;
When the filthy corpses of the kings,
Lay strewn across the squares of the riot,
The great festivals of inevitability-. -
The festival of liberty shines brightly -
The angry people raise a storm,
And yet you foresee the wonderful opportunity,
Despite the high hopes of the people,
That you should scorn the whole of mankind.
Believing only in destructive happiness,
Your fearless heart was as wild as a drunken one,
Tempted by the tyranny,
You were enamored of metaphysical and disillusioned beauty.
You pacify the changing people,
quelling their childish agitation,
New-born freedom becomes mute,
suddenly losing his power.
Slaves flocked to your hesitation,
Fulfilling the aspirations of your power,
You twined your chains with laurel leaves,
And drove the militia into battle.
France, though glorified,
has forgotten her far-reaching ambitions,
and can only look with involuntary eyes,
at her glorious shame.
You bring your sword into the grand banquet,
and everything worships and cheers like you,
and Europa is ruined, and gloomy dreams
float above his head.
The giant raised his shameful dignity,
and stepped on Europa's forehead,
Tirhit! (The Rossians
are no longer horrified to hear it)
Tirhit makes the proud hero
famous for the last time extraterritorially;
Peace is dull, tranquillity is cold,
and the fortunate man's heart is thrilling again.
Who compelled you? The madman!
Who has short-sighted the wizards?
How could you not understand the heart of the Rossian?
In vain have you the audacity to see far!
Failing to anticipate the flames,
you fantasize that we, the people of Rus,
hope for a heavenly peace;
it is too late for us to guess.
Russia, queen of wars,
Thou hast remembered the ancient right!
Extinguish, Austerlitz Sun!
Great Moscow, burn!
Another age has come,
A short-lived shame is written off!
Duel to the death is our agreement!
Russia, pray for Moscow!
He stretched out his frozen hands,
grasping his crown of iron,
He was done, he was finally done,
witnessing the bottomless abyss before him.
The snow was streaked with blood,
Europe's militia fled in haste,
the melting snow proclaiming their destruction,
and the enemy's trail then dissipated.
The world boiled, the fury roiled,
Europa broke his chains,
The curses of the nations flew at the tyrant,
and the roar of the crusade thundered.
The giant saw the goddess of vengeance,
and saw the people waving their iron fists:
Tyrant A, the heavy humiliations,
are all to be liquidated upon thee as it were.
His insatiable greed of old,
and the ferocity of surprise,
in exchange for the moody bitterness of exile
and loneliness under foreign skies.
The search for the prisoner's hot island
will bring sailboats from the north,
and swimmers will carve the language of forgiveness and reconciliation into a rock face
.
Looking out over the waves from here, the
prisoner had remembered the clash of swords,
the frozen pangs of the north,
and his French skies.
He had sometimes forgotten
the throne, the afterlife, and the war on the desert island,
alone, alone, thinking of his beloved son,
and feeling wretched and sullen in his heart.
What man today is small-minded,
willing to bear shameful curses,
to issue rash denunciations,
to alarm the dead he deposed!
Ah, he pointed out the noble mission for the Russian people
to give the world eternal freedom,
the legacy of his exiled career.
To the sea
Farewell, free-spirited sea!
This is the last time you will be in front of my eyes,
tumbling with azure waves,
and glittering with delicate features.
As if it were a friend's melancholy complaint,
As if it were his call at parting,
I was listening for the last time to
The din of your sorrow, the din of your summons.
You are the place of my heart's desire, O!
From time to time I have wandered along beside your shore,
alone, silent and bewildered,
and still distressed and heartbroken by that hidden desire!
How I love your echoes,
love your somber tones, your abyssal acoustics,
and that silence at dusk,
and that capricious passion!
The meek sails of fishermen,
By the protection of thy capriciousness,
Fly bravely between the waves;
But when thou rageth and canst not be controlled,
The great multitude of vessels are overthrown.
I have wanted to leave
your lonely and still shores for ever,
to congratulate you with rapturous feelings,
and to let my poems run far away with your waves,
but I have not been able to do as I wished!
You waited, you beckoned ...... and I was bound;
The struggles of my mind were wholly in vain:
I was charmed by a passion so strong,
that it kept me beside your shore. ......
What is there to pity? Where now
is the path to which I shall run free from care and green cares?
In the midst of your desert, there is one thing
which once shocked my mind.
It was a craggy rock, a glorious tomb ......
And there, steeped in cold slumber,
was some majestic remembrance;
Napoleon perished there.
There he lay long in misery.
And immediately after him, just like the clamor of a storm,
another genius, flew away from us,
another monarch of our thoughts.
The singer who sobbed for the God of Freedom vanished,
He left his laurels in the world.
Do the foul weather clamor and stir:
Oh, O sea, it was he who once sang thee to song.
Your image is reflected in him,
and he was molded to grow in your spirit:
Just like you, he is majestic, far-reaching and gloomy,
and he is like you, and nothing can bring him to yield and surrender.
The world is empty ...... O great ocean,
Where will you take me now?
The fate of men is the same everywhere:
Wherever there is happiness, there has long been a guard there:
Perhaps an enlightened sage, perhaps a tyrannical king.
Oh, farewell, sea!
I shall never forget thy stately countenance,
I shall long, long
listen to thee booming at dusk.
My whole heart is full of thee,
I will take thy crags, thy bays,
thy flashes, thy shadows, and flotsam waves,
into the forests, and into the silent desert countryside.
"I have loved thee: and this love may . ."
I have loved thee: this love may
not yet be quite quenched in my heart;
but let not this love disturb thee any more;
I would not have anything to make thee melancholy any more.
I have loved you silently and hopelessly,
At times bitterly timid, at times bitterly jealous;
I have loved you so sincerely and so warmly,
God grant that others may love you so.
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To a certain someone
No, no, I shouldn't, I wouldn't dare, I couldn't
Couldn't be any more madly Dwell on the excitement of love;
I guard my peace strictly,
Won't let the mind burn and perplex again;
No, I've loved enough; but why,
Do I still fall into short-lived fantasies from time to time,
When the young, pure, Divine Creation,
Occasionally walks past me, and, with a flutter,
Disappear? ...... Have I been unable
to appreciate the girl with a sad passion,
to follow her with my eyes, and quietly
wish her happiness, wish her joy,
with all my heart to wish her a good life,
with carefree leisure, joyful peace
Bless everything, even her chosen one,
The one who calls the lovely girl his wife?!
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To Kern
I remember that magical moment:
There you appeared before me! ,
like a fleeting vision,
like a spirit of pure beauty.
In the torment of hopeless sorrow,
in the tumult of a noisy life,
the gentle sound echoed to me for a long time,
and the lovely face floated in my dreams.
The years fly by. The storm of commotion,
blows away the fantasy of the past,
I have forgotten your gentle voice,
and your heavenly fairy-like face.
Secluded in the darkness of captivity,
My years continue in silence,
Without gods, without inspiration,
Without tears, without life, and without love.
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To a Greek woman
You were born to
ignite the imagination of poets ,
You startle and capture that imagination,
with affectionate and lively greetings,
with strange oriental languages,
with eyes that sparkle like mirrors,
with the licentiousness of this jeweled foot ......
You were born to be tender,
It is for passionate merriment III
Please, when Laila's singer...,
With heavenly longing,
Depicts his undying ideals,
That agonizingly adorable poet,
Reproduces could it be your image?
Perhaps, in that distant land,
under the sacred canopy of Greece,
the inspired sufferer,
saw you, as if in a dreamland,
and so he treasured, in the depths of his heart,
this unforgettable image?
Perhaps the wizard bewitched you,
and strummed the harp of his happiness;
An involuntary shudder,
swept over your self-respecting breast,
and so you leaned on his shoulder ......
No, no, my friend,
I do not wish to harbor jealous fancies;
I have long been estranged from happiness,
And when the hour of my renewed enjoyment comes,
Dark sorrows torment me,
I fear: all that is lovely is unfaithful.
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Convalescence
Is it you I see, dear friend?
Is it possible that this is only a vague fancy,
an unreal dream, a violent illness
stirring my imagination deceitfully?
It was you who stood at my bedside in the somber moments of this ominous illness,
The gentle girl
awkwardly, adorably dressed in a military uniform?
Yes, I saw you; my godless sight
Saw the familiar beauty through that military uniform:
I called out to my girlfriend in a weak whisper ......
But then my consciousness gathered up gloomy fantasies,
and with a weak hand in the darkness, I took you in my Seeking...
Suddenly, on my hot forehead, I feel
your tears, wet kisses and your breath...
This immortal feeling! The fire of life,
passing through my heart with an overwhelming desire to be excited!
I'm boiling, I'm trembling ......
You, on the other hand, disappeared like a beautiful phantom!
Ruthless friend! You are making me suffer with intoxication:
Come on, let love make me perish!
In the silence of the wonderful night,
Appear, Wonder Woman! Let me see again
your eyes like blue skies under the majestic military cap,
see the cloak, see the armed belt,
see the feet adorned with military boots.
Don't hesitate, come, my beautiful soldier,
come, I'm waiting for you. The gods have once again
given me great gifts with health,
and given me sweet troubles,
this is that hidden game of love and youth.
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For a fantasist
You will take pleasure in painful passions;
You delight in letting tears flow,
delight in tormenting the imagination with vain flames,
hide quiet sorrows in your heart.
O naive fantasist, believe that you will not love.
Oh, if you, seeker of melancholy emotions,
once touched by the terrible madness of love,
when the full venom of love boils in your veins,
when insomnia extends its long night,
you lie in your bed, suffering from the slow torment of sorrow,
and you cry out for that deceitful silence,
In vain you shut your mournful eyes tightly,
You weep bitterly, and embrace the tumbled quilt,
You grow haggard in the madness of your unfulfilled wishes,
Believe that by that time
You will be free of unseemly fantasies!
No, no! You will burst into tears,
and fall to your knees at the feet of your high-minded lover,
and you will tremble, pale, and frantic,
and you will cry out to the gods,
"O gods, give me back my deluded sanity,
and drive this damned image from my presence!
I have loved enough, give me peace!
But that spectral love and unforgettable image,
you'll never get rid of.
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Letter to Leda
When the wonderful darkness spreads the curtain
silently over their heads,
When time pushes the hands,
and wanders on the slow clock,
When in the blissful serenity of nature,
only love has not yet gone to sleep,-
Then, once more, I leave
The close vault of my cell,
and I come to be in your lodgings. ......
By my hasty steps,
By the lust-filled silence,
By the bold trembling hand,
By the agitated breath,
And the rolling, tender lips,
Identify your lover,-
My joy and delight have come!
O Leda, how good it would be,
to die with the ecstasy of blazing love!
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Singer
Have you ever heard that late-night song behind the trees?
It was a singer of love and sorrow singing.
When the fields are silent in the morning,
That melancholy, plaintive voice chirps,
Do ye ever hear?
Did ye ever foresee him in the barren darkness of the forest?
It was a singer of love and grief singing.
Have ye ever seen the tear-stained and smiling,
seen the quiet gaze full of sorrow?
Have ye ever met?
Have ye ever sighed, when hearing that quiet song?
It was a singer of love and sorrow singing.
Have ye ever sighed when ye saw this youth in the forest,
and met his dark and lifeless gaze?
Have ye ever sighed?
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Sense and Love
The boy Daphnis was chasing Doris,
and he was shouting: "Stop, beauty, stop!
Say 'I love you' and I will
never chase you again, I swear it by the God of Love!"
"Shut up, shut up!" Reason was saying,
and the god of loveliness said, "Say it: you're lovely!"
"You're lovely!" The shepherdess repeated,
and love then kindled in both their hearts,
and Daphnis knelt at the feet of the beauty,
and Doris lowered her amorous eyes.
"Run away, run away!" Reason said to her,
while Eros was saying, "Please stay!"
She stayed,-and the happy shepherd boy
clasped her hand in his trembling one.
He said, "See, in the shade of the linden tree,
two doves are embracing each other!"
"Run away, run away!" Reason said repeatedly,
but Eros said to her, "Learn them to embrace!"
A tender smile slid across the beauty's hot lips,
and
with love in her eyes,
she fell into her lover's arms ......
"I wish you happiness!" Eros said to her.
Where was sanity? Sanity had nothing more to say.
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How sweet! ...... But O God, how dangerous ......"
How sweet! ...... But how dangerous, O God,
To hear your voice and see your lovely gaze! ......
How can I forget this warm and marvelous conversation, this wonderful look,
and this smile!
Why have I seen you, O marvelous woman?
By knowing thee, I have tasted the supreme bliss,-
and the hatred of my happiness fills the breast.
Hand over the points