Boris Pasternak: Всі вірші поета

Всі вірші Оригінали Переклади

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Autumn

I have allowed my family to scatter,

All those who were my dearest to depart,

And once again an age-long loneliness

Comes in to fill all nature and my heart.

Alone this cottage shelters me and you:

The wood is an unpeopled wilderness

And ways and footpaths wear, as in the song.

Weeds almost overgrowing each recess;

Boris Pasternak

After The Storm

The air is full of after-thunder freshness,

And everything rejoices and revives.

With the whole outburst of its purple clusters

The lilac drinks the air of paradise.

The gutters overflow; the change of weather

Makes all you see appear alive and new.

Meanwhile the shades of sky are growing lighter,

Beyond the blackest cloud the height is blue.

Boris Pasternak

The garden scatters burnt-up beetles

Like brazen ash, from braziers burst.

I witness, by my lighted candle,

A newly blossomed universe.

And like a not yet known religion

I enter this unheard of night,

In which the shabbily-grey poplar

Has curtained off the lunar light.

Boris Pasternak

Wet Paint

'Look out! Wet paint.' My soul was blind,

I have to pay the price,

All marked with stains of calves and cheeks

And hands and lips and eyes.

I loved you more than luck or grief

Because with you in sight

The old and yellowed world became

As white as painters' white.

Boris Pasternak

August

This was its promise, held to faithfully:

The early morning sun came in this way

Until the angle of its saffron beam

Between the curtains and the sofa lay,

And with its ochre heat it spread across

The village houses, and the nearby wood,

Upon my bed and on my dampened pillow

And to the corner where the bookcase stood.

Boris Pasternak

The shiv'ring piano, foaming at the mouth

The shiv'ring piano, foaming at the mouth,

Will wrench you by its ravings, discompose you.

"My darling," you will murmur. "No!" I'll shout.

"To music?!" Yet can two be ever closer

Than in the dusk, while tossing vibrant chords

Into the fireplace, like journals, tome by tome?

Oh, understanding wonderful, just nod,

And you will know I do not claim to own

Boris Pasternak

Soul

My mournful soul, you, sorrowing

For all my friends around,

You have become the burial vault

Of all those hounded down.

Devoting to their memory

A verse, embalming them,

In torment, broken, lovingly

Lamenting over them,

Boris Pasternak

A Dream

I dreamt of autumn in the window's twilight,

And you, a tipsy jesters' throng amidst. '

And like a falcon, having stooped to slaughter,

My heart returned to settle on your wrist.

But time went on, grew old and deaf. Like thawing

Soft ice old silk decayed on easy chairs.

A bloated sunset from the garden painted

The glass with bloody red September tears.

Boris Pasternak

Parting

A man is standing in the hall

His house not recognizing.

Her sudden leaving was a flight,

Herself, maybe, surprising.

The chaos reigning in the room

He does not try to master.

His tears and headache hide in gloom

The extent of his disaster.

Boris Pasternak

Definition of Poetry

It's a whistle blown ripe in a trice,

It's the cracking of ice in a gale,

It's a night that turns green leaves to ice,

It's a duel of two nightingales.

It is sweet-peas run gloriously wild,

It's the world's twinking tears in the pod,

It is Figaro like hot hail hurled

From the flutes on the wet flower bed.

Boris Pasternak

The Weeping Garden

It’s terrible! – all drip and listening.

Whether, as ever, it’s loneliness,

splashing a branch, like lace, on the window,

or whether perhaps there’s a witness.

Choked there beneath its swollen

burden – earth’s nostrils, and audibly,

like August, far off in the distance,

midnight, ripening slow with the fields.

Boris Pasternak

Fairy Tale

Once, in times forgotten,

In a fairy place,

Through the steppe, a rider

Made his way apace.

While he sped to battle,

Nearing from the dim

Distance, a dark forest

Rose ahead of him.

Boris Pasternak