outland poetry
anthology
诗选
Mikhail Yuryevich Lermontov
No, I'm not Byron
No, I am not Byron, I was the other - individual
Although it is _select_ed, are still unknown,
Like him to be the world's exile,
They cherish the soul of Russia.
I started earlier, it will end earlier
Difficult to realize their ambitions;
A heap of broken hopes sink in my heart
As submerged in the depths.
O sea, dark, silent,
Guessing who your secret?
Who thought that my death?
I - or God - one or actually no one can say that!
(White fly translation)
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Sail
Misty blue mist in the sea
Leaf a boat gleaming white ... ...
It is in the distance looking for?
What it left in the home?
Wind rush, spray filled,
Mast bent sound of breathing ... ...
Ah, - It is not to seek happiness
Nor is the happiness to escape!
Under sail, the water flow than the blue sky clear,
Sails, the drop of golden sun ... ...
Fan calls and rebellious storm
Seems to have only quiet storm!
(White fly translation)
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Sword
I love you, my hundred refining cast steel dagger,
I love you, my friends bright and cold.
Revenge of the Georgian people gloomy cast you,
Alex Mitchell of freedom for people sharpen your battle.
A lily-like real estate broker at the time that farewell
You presented to me, as a permanent monument,
Your blade is not the first time in flowing blood,
But that the crystal tears - the pain of the pearls.
Pair of black eyes, when I look at it when
The whole filled with a mysterious obscure sadness,
Just like your steel front flickering lights in the front,
Sometimes dark, but when launching a shining coldness.
You are my partner, love the silent guarantee
Rangers will take you as his good example:
Yes, as like you, my steel friend
I never change, my heart will never be strong.
(1838)
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Motherland
I love the country, but with a strange love!
The reason I can not even win it.
Whether it is blood, honor,
Whether it is filled with the quiet pride of piety,
Whether that sacred ancient rumors
Are not inspire the dreams of the comfort of my heart.
But I love - do not know why -
It was quiet cold desolate prairie,
It was the wind shaking the endless forests,
It was wildly turbulent sea, the river's Pentium,
I love riding car that ran on the road between the villages,
Through the eyes of a slow night that the vast,
Thinking about their own place to stay overnight, meet with
Road next to the little flicker of light.
I love that fires the smoke emerging,
Traveling on the night of the brigade grassland,
Greenish yellow fields in the hills head
The pair of shimmering white birch.
With people I do not know the joy,
Looking at the field full of grain threshing,
Farm covered with straw thatched cottage
Inlaid with relief the little window shutters,
The festive night in the dew,
In that drunken farmer jokes,
Watch it dance accompanied by whistles,
I can see the middle of the night straight deeper.
(1841)
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Question Rembrandt painting
Gloomy genius ah, you understand
The excitement of passion and inspiration, leap,
That dream painful but messy
And Byron all the amazing people.
I see you with rough brush strokes
Draw the face that Banlu ajar;
Whether to wear the holy robes of the Buddhist,
Exile of the famous youth?
Perhaps, what unknown crimes
Run out of his lofty ideas;
All around are dark: his proud
Eyes flashing with doubt and sadness.
Perhaps this is just a sketch drawing,
This country faces is not ideal!
Era or in pain
Painted portrait of your own?
But the cold eyes forever
Unfathomable not guess the secret
The creation of this piece better than usual
Who is a relentless harsh rebuke.
1830
Translated by Yu Zhen
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Angel
Angel flying in the midnight air,
Gentle voice singing mouth;
Moon, stars and clouds blossoming shade,
Sacred sound listening with great concentration.
He sang under the cool shadow of the garden paradise,
Jeong wizard extremely pure joy;
He sings great supreme God,
Xu Qing does not contain false praise.
He brought a young creature,
Sorrow and tears of the earth to give;
Songs remain in the childish mind,
No lyrics, but not die.
Human suffering that living beings suffer,
With good hearts want to;
Unseen songs made him tired,
How can we replace the kingdom of heaven farewell.
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Cloud
The clouds ah, the eternal wanderer!
Yin grass like carpet, such as a string of pearls;
Ben rushed north from the lovely southern,
Like me, like a prisoner in exile.
Who is forcing you: the fate of the decision?
Hidden jealousy? Blatant slander?
Torture is the heart of your guilt,
Or friends malicious slander?
No, desolate fields to make you tired
Out of tune with your enthusiasm and melancholy;
You always calm, always yearning for freedom,
No country, there is no exile.
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From SMTH
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