Федор Сологуб
(1863-1927)
Высока луна Господня.
Тяжко мне.
Истомилась я сегодня
В тишине.
Ни одна вокруг не лает
Из подруг.
Скучно, страшно замирает
Всё вокруг.
В ясных улицах так пусто,
Так мертво.
Не слыхать шагов, ни
хруста,
Ничего.
Землю нюхая в тревоге,
Жду я бед.
Слабо пахнет по дороге
Чей-то след.
Никого нигде не будит
Быстрый шаг.
Жданный путник, кто ж он
будет, —
Друг иль враг?
Под холодною луною
Я одна.
Нет, невмочь мне, — я
завою
У окна.
Высока луна Господня,
Высока.
Грусть томит меня сегодня
И тоска.
Просыпайтесь, нарушайте
Тишину.
Сестры, сестры! войте,
лайте
На луну!
<Не позднее 24 февраля
1905 года> *
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Literal Translation
God’s moon is high.
I’m
wretched.
I’ve languished today
In
silence.
No one around, not a single friend
Is
barking.
Everything around sinks into
A
tedious, fearful hush.
On the bright streets so empty,
Streets
that are dead,
No steps are to be heard, not a crunch,
Nothing.
I sniff the ground anxiously,
I
anticipate woe.
Someone’s spore along the road
Gives
off a faint scent.
No one nowhere is awakened
By
a swift step.
The wayfarer expected, who will he be,
Friend
or foe?
Beneath the cold moon
I’m
alone.
No, I can’t stand it—I’ll howl
At
the window.
God’s moon is high,
High.
Sadness torments me today
And
anguish.
Wake up, break
The
silence.
Sisters, sisters! Howl, bark
At
the moon!
d
High in the sky is God’s moon.
I
feel bad.
Today is a day with blank misery strewn.
Silent
and sad.
No one around, not a mutt, not a bitch
To
go yip-yipe or bark.
All is so tedious, all a dank niche,
Full
of stagnation, dark.
Streets that shine bright with their emptiness,
Streets
that are dead.
No crunching of steps on the iciness,
Naught
but an onerous dread.
Anxiously sniffing the ground,
Expect
trouble and woe.
Somebody’s print of a foot nowhere bound,
Faintly
reeking of snow.
A sudden swift step in the gloom,
No
one wakes up and peers.
Could he be bearing my ultimate doom,
Two-legged
walker who traffics in fears?
Under the cold and the drear of the moon
I’m
alone, life is foul.
Everywhere anguish and agony loom.
By
the window I’ll howl.
High in the sky is God’s moon,
O
so high.
I languish in misery, aggrieved in the gloom,
Why,
o why?
Awaken all canines, you borzois and hounds,
Loft
all your wails out of tune.
Sisters and brothers, yelp out yowling sounds;
Keen at the sky and the moon!
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Dogs in Russian Literature
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