Rozhdestvensky Robert :
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Collection of Poems
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Школа кожевенного мастерства: сумки, ремни своими руками
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Rozhdestvensky Robert
(
*** See also: http://vagalecs.narod.ru/ http://zhurnal.lib.ru/editors/a/alec_v/ *** vagalec@rambler.ru
)
Размещен: 21/01/2012, изменен: 21/01/2012. 56k.
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Аннотация:
Robert Rozhdestvensky Collection of Poems (translated from the Russian by Alec Vagapov)
Robert Rozhdestvensky
Collection of Poems
(translated from the Russian by Alec Vagapov)
--
One, Indeed, Needs Very Little:
Just to Look...
--
We Are Perfectly Matched
--
As Severe as a War...
--
Museum of Natural Sciences
--
For That Fellow
--
Instants
--
Nostalgia
--
The Snow
--
The Dream
--
Peace and Quiet
--
Hiroshima
--
The Irreplaceable
--
Monument to Soldier Alyosha in Plovdiv
Robert Rozhdestvensky
(translated from the Russian by Alec Vagapov)
1.
One, Indeed, Needs Very Little:
Just to Look...
One, indeed, needs very little:
Look and find it in the end.
To begin with, one needs people:
just one foe
and just
one
friend.
One, indeed, needs very little
Just a path to take one's leave,
and one's wish is very simple
He just wants
his mom
to live.
One, indeed, needs very little:
peace that follows stormy days.
Just some fog and stars that twinkle,
just
one life
and just one death.
One just needs a morning paper,
With mankind the kinship
bonds.
Just one planet, love and favour,
Mother Earth!
That's all one wants.
Plus
an interstellar road and
dream of flying and high speed.
That's a trifle, not important,
That's not very much, indeed.
Not a big award and wholly
negligible podium.
One
does not need much
if only
he'd be waited for
at home.
2.
Robert Rozhdestvensky
(translated from the Russian by Alec Vagapov)
We Are Perfectly Matched
We've been getting along since the
moment
we'll remember a whole life long;
just like words go with lips and like water
goes with thirst, we're getting
along.
Like the sky goes with birds, and the
ground
Goes with snow when winter's around
(we've been waiting for it
so long),
that's the way we are
getting along..
We were matched
knowing nothing about
what was good in this life,
what was bad,
and the calendar time
has for ever
coincided with us at that.
3.
Robert Rozhdestvensky
(translated from the Russian by
Alec Vagapov
)
As Severe as a War...
As severe as a war was that cold
winter
drilled and pierced by the winds it was
tempered
snow lay on it in a bulk,
bitter,
and the homes under its weight.
trembled.
Frost would blow across the floor,
sneaking,
our teacher sneezed and coughed,
patient.
Ink would melt in our class-room,
dripping.
and the principle would cancel
dictation.
And I knew that the winds blew with
reason,
no surprise, in the morning I have
a sore throat.
All I have in this world from that
season
are the war and winter
in my thought.
Snow would storm and slash the ground,
roaring,
and the ice in the river bed was
fierce..
Flowers bloomed on the windows,
growing,
as if each was by a bullet
pierced!
Neighbor granny put on widow's
shawl and
sat up weeping till late
hours...
Like a war that winter was
Long, and
up to now it feels like cold
showers.
4
Robert Rozhdestvensky
(translated from the Russian by
Alec Vagapov
)
Museum of Natural Sciences
Brontosaurs
Haven't come creeping up,
pterodactyls
have not come up flying
to the present day Earth with its storms
and the sun in the sky
shining.
There's no one
to blame,
I should say,
It's their own fault
entirely.
They got lost,
couldn't find their way
finding death in the blind alley.
Tree of life
is stirring its leaves,
up and down
the branches are swaying.
"man of wisdom"
sits on the top
of that tree
deep in thought
as if weighing.
He's a thinker
He knits his brows
An idea at his heart
is gnawing
He is thinking about how
He could crush himself
On his own.
He is chinning his hand, looks so good,
progress leader,
graceful and proud ...
He will think up something!
He would!
You do not have to worry.
No doubt!
Age is flying
over man's head.
turns of time
flow of life,
dally...
Is man also
the nature's branch
of
barren and futile blind alley?!
5.
Robert Rozhdestvensky
(translated from the Russian by
Alec Vagapov
)
For That Fellow
In the morning I'll get up
early,
I will go across the field
roaming.
Something's happened too my mind,
really,
I recall what never fell
on me.
Rain drops beat me in the cheeks,
hollow,
twenty years is a short time,
rather.
I have never known that
fellow
who had promised:
"I'll be back, mother!"
In the meantime, the field
smells of bitterness,
early winds seem to be
green as grass.
We wake up at midnight,
and the sound we hear is
storm or,
perchance,
roaring echo of war
that has passed.
It appears spring will be