Translation of Poem by Innokenty Annensky, Иннокентий Анненский, "Тоска миража," "MIRAGE'S ANGUISH"

 

 

Иннокентий Анненский

(1855-1909)

Тоска миража

Погасла последняя краска,
Как шепот в полночной мольбе…
Что надо, безумная сказка,
От этого сердца тебе?

Мои ли без счета и меры
По снегу не тяжки концы?
Мне ль дали пустые не серы?
Не тускло звенят бубенцы?

Но ты-то зачем так глубоко
Двоишься, о сердце мое?
Я знаю — она далеко,
И чувствую близость ее.

Уж вот они, снежные дымы,
С них глаз я свести не могу:
Сейчас разминуться должны мы
На белом, но мертвом снегу.

Сейчас кто-то сани нам сцепит
И снова расцепит без слов.
На миг, но томительный лепет
Сольется для нас бубенцов…

 

Он слился… Но больше друг друга
Мы в тусклую ночь не найдем…
В тоске безысходного круга
Влачусь я постылым путем…

Погасла последняя краска,
Как шепот в полночной мольбе…
Что надо, безумная сказка,
От этого сердца тебе?

 

d

Literal Translation

The Anguish of a MIrage

 

The last color has faded,

Like the whisper of a midnight prayer . . .

What do you need, insane folk tale

Of this heart of mine?

 

Are not they without number and measure,

My arduous slogs through the snow?

Are the empty expanses not gray to me?

Do the sleighbells not ding drearily?

 

But why so deep is the split in you,

O heart of mine?

I know that she’s far away,

And I feel her nearness to me.

 

Right there they are, the snowy mists,

I cannot tear my eyes away from them.

Any minute now we must miss one another as we pass

On the white but dead snow.

 

Any minute now someone will hitch together our sleighs,

And once again silently unhitch them.

The languorous babble of the sleighbells

For a second will merge into one for us . . .

 

It so merged . . . But in the dim night

We won’t find each other again . . .

In the agony of a closed circle

I drag along on my hapless path . . .

 

The last color has faded,

Like the whisper of a midnight prayer . . .

What do you need, insane folk tale

Of this heart of mine?

 

d

 

Literary Translation/Adaptation by U.R. Bowie

 

Mirage’s Anguish

 

The last painted colors have faded,

Like whispered soft prayers in the night . . .

What need do you have of my heart, heavy-haded

Insane prattling tale specked with blight?

 

Do they not lack measure and number,

My arduous slogs through the snow?

Are distant expanses not gray tinged with umber,

Do sleighbells not jingle-ring woe?

 

But why are you rent into shambles,

O sorrowful heartstrings of mine?

I know that she’s off on far rambles

But feel that she’s near, sibylline.

 

Before me are snows rife with mistiness,

I stare at them, gaze in a trance;

All too soon we’ll diverge in that wispiness,

Pass you by, pass me by, look askance. 

 

Some someone will couple our chaise-sleighs,

Then silently uncouple them.

For a second the sleighbells liaise,

Until your bells and mine come undone . . .

 

They liaised . . . But in the dim haze of the murkiness

We’ll not find each other again . . .

I go round and round in the quirkiness,

I drag my way on through the pain.

 

The last painted colors have faded,

Like whispered soft prayers in the night . . .

What need do you have of my heart, heavy-haded

Insane prattling tale specked with blight?