Николай Заболоцкий
(1903-1958)
Детство
Огромные глаза, как у нарядной куклы,
Раскрыты широко. Под стрелами ресниц,
Доверчиво-ясны и правильно округлы,
Мерцают ободки младенческих зениц.
На что она глядит? И чем необычаен
И сельский этот дом, и сад, и огород,
Где, наклонясь к кустам, хлопочет их хозяин,
И что-то, вяжет там, и режет, и поет?
Два тощих петуха дерутся на заборе,
Шершавый хмель ползет по столбику крыльца.
А девочка глядит. И в этом чистом взоре
Отображен весь мир до самого конца.
Он, этот дивный мир, поистине впервые
Очаровал ее, как чудо из чудес,
И в глубь души ее, как спутники живые,
Вошли и этот дом, и этот сад, и лес.
И много минет дней. И боль сердечной смуты
И счастье к ней придет. Но и жена, и мать,
Она блаженный смысл короткой той минуты
Вплоть до седых волос всё будет вспоминать.
1957
d
Literal Translation
Childhood
Enormous eyes, like an
elegant doll’s,
Opened wide. Beneath the
arrows of eyelashes,
Trustingly clear and
perfectly rounded,
At their rims shine her childish
pupils.
What is she looking at?
And what’s so unusual
About that village
house, the garden, vegetable plot,
Where, bending toward
the bushes, the owner fusses about,
Tying something up,
cutting something, and singing?
Two scraggly roosters
are fighting on the fence,
A rough hop-vine climbs
the post of the porch.
And the little girl goes
on looking. And in that pure gaze
The whole world to its
very end is reflected.
It, that wondrous world,
truly for the first time
Has captivated her, like
the most marvelous of marvels,
And into the depths of
her soul, like living fellow travelers,
Have entered both that
house, and that garden, and the forest.
And many days will pass.
And both the pain of a heart in turmoil
And happiness will be
her lot. But even as a wife, as a mother,
Even until the gray hair
on her head, she will recall
The blessed sense of
that brief moment.
d
Literary Translation/Adaptation by U.R. Bowie
Childhood
Eyes that are huge under
eyelashes shadow,
The eyes of an elegant doll,
sparkling, clear;
Trusting and rounded,
wide-open, they glow,
The childish pupils take
in all that is near.
What is she looking at?
What’s there appealing
In the cottage, the
garden and vegetable plot,
Where, bending towards
bushes, her father is kneeling,
Humming and fixing and
trimming black rot?
Two scraggly roosters
near trellis are fighting,
On front porch a
hop-vine ascends the near post.
The girl gazes on, in
her eyes pure, inviting,
The world is reflected
to its ultimate endmost.
That marvel of marvels,
the world rife with wonders,
Has mesmerized her for
the very first time,
And that house, and the
garden, the trees in vast numbers
Congregate in her soul,
where they quaver and chime.
And the years will fly
by; she’ll know the heart’s passion.
She’ll be happy and sad,
a wife and mother be.
But then even later,
with hair gray and ashen,
In her memory that brief
precious moment she’ll see.
