School Facade Made to Look Like Bookshelf, Tyumen, Russia
Aleksandr Pushkin
(1799-1837)
Дар напрасный, дар случайный,
Жизнь, зачем ты мне дана?
Иль зачем судьбою тайной
Ты на казнь осуждена?
Жизнь, зачем ты мне дана?
Иль зачем судьбою тайной
Ты на казнь осуждена?
Кто меня враждебной властью
Из ничтожества воззвал,
Душу мне наполнил страстью,
Ум сомненьем взволновал?...
Из ничтожества воззвал,
Душу мне наполнил страстью,
Ум сомненьем взволновал?...
Цели нет передо мною:
Сердце пусто, празден ум,
И томит меня тоскою
Однозвучный жизни шум.
Сердце пусто, празден ум,
И томит меня тоскою
Однозвучный жизни шум.
26 мая 1828
Literal
Translation
Useless gift, gift presented by chance,
Life, why were you given to me?
Or why by some mysterious fate
Were you condemned to death?
Who by some inimical force
Summoned me out of nothingness,
Filled my soul up with passion,
Agitated my mind with doubt?
There is no goal before me;
My heart is empty, my mind idle,
And the monotonous hum of life
Torments me with depression.
d
Literary
Translation by Robin Kallsen
Futile gift, so unexpected --
Life, why were you brought to me?
Rather, why are you subjected
To a brutal penalty?
What unfriendly power brought me
Into being from nothingness,
Filled my soul with passion, wrought me
Doubts and qualms and faithlessness?
No ambitions stand before me:
Empty are my heart and mind;
And I cannot flee the torment
Of this world’s drudging grind.
Literary Translation by Natasha Gotskaya
Life, the gift so idle and random,
Why 're you given to me at all?
Or, else, why must you abandon
Me, condemned to deadly call?
What cruel force has called me, raising
From nonentity to light,
Filled my soul with passion blazing,
Stirred with doubt my eager mind?..
Void's my brain, and drained's my spirit.
No goals for which I strive.
I am sick to death of hearing
The monotonous buzz of life.
d
Literary
Translation/Imitation by U.R. Bowie
Based on pure chance, a useless gift,
A life—why was it given to me?
And why does furtive fate so swift
All lives to end in death decree?
What power hostile in intent
Called me from Lethe’s mephitism,
Made my soul's essence passion-bent,
But roiled my mind with skepticism?
No goal I see in front of me,
My mind is idle, my heart numb,
And life’s nonstop monotony
Drones on with wretched, endless thrum.
Portrait of Pushkin by Petrov-Vodkin
https://www.youtube.com/watch?reload=9&v=Au65b5sGMY4
