Translation of Poem by Aleksandr Pushkin, "Remembrance," "Воспоминание"

 

Александр Пушкин

(1799-1837)

 

Воспоминание

 

Когда для смертного умолкнет шумный день,
И на немые стогны града
Полупрозрачная наляжет ночи тень
И сон, дневных трудов награда,
В то время для меня влачатся в тишине
Часы томительного бденья:
В бездействии ночном живей горят во мне
Змеи сердечной угрызенья;
Мечты кипят; в уме, подавленном тоской,
Теснится тяжких дум избыток;
Воспоминание безмолвно предо мной
Свой длинный развивает свиток;
И с отвращением читая жизнь мою,
Я трепещу и проклинаю,
И горько жалуюсь, и горько слезы лью,
Но строк печальных не смываю.

1828 г.

 

 

Literal Translation

                                                                    Remembrance

 When the noisy day is stilled for mortal man,

And onto the mute streets and squares

The translucent shadow of night descends,

Along with sleep, the reward for daily toil,

Then hours of languorous wakefulness

Drag on for me in silence.

During night’s inactivity remorseful pangs

Of serpent bites burn more fiercely in my heart.

Reveries seethe; in my mind, weighed down by anguish,

A throng of depressing thoughts crowd in;

Silently remembrance unfolds

Its long scroll before me.

And as I read about my life with loathing,

I tremble and curse,

And bitterly complain, and bitter tears shed,

But the sad lines I do not wash away.

 

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Literary Translation/Adaptation by U.R. Bowie

 Remembrance

 When strident day is stilled for mortal life,

And on the streets gone mute, on quiet squares,

The shade of night descends, assuaging strife,

And sleep glides in, reward for daylight’s cares,

 

Oppressive silence seeps into my soul,

I sit awake for hours in languor’s throes,

While shame and grim remorse imbued with dole

Exacerbate my guilt and reckonings impose.

 

I writhe in seething reveries, in guilt, anxiety,

While, elbows out, oppressive thoughts crowd in;

Remembrance stands and looks askance at me,

Un-scrolling his account of mortal sin.  

 

And loathing, cursing, grasping at my head,

Sickened and aghast I read the tale;

I bitterly repine and bitter teardrops shed,

But tears cannot the dread words countervail.