Translation of Poem by Vladimir Mayakovsky, "Наш марш"

 

Владимир Маяковский

(1893-1930)

Наш марш

Бейте в площади бунтов топот!
Выше, гордых голов гряда!
Мы разливом второго потопа
перемоем миров города.

Дней бык пег.
Медленна лет арба.
Наш бог бег.
Сердце наш барабан.

Есть ли наших золот небесней?
Нас ли сжалит пули оса?
Наше оружие — наши песни.
Наше золото — звенящие голоса.

Зеленью ляг, луг,
выстели дно дням.
Радуга, дай дуг
лет быстролётным коням.

Видите, скушно звезд небу!
Без него наши песни вьем.
Эй, Большая Медведица! требуй,
чтоб на небо нас взяли живьем.

Радости пей! Пой!
В жилах весна разлита.
Сердце, бей бой!
Грудь наша — медь литавр.

 

1917

 

d

 

Literal Translation

Beat in the city square the tramp of revolt!

Higher, you row of proud heads!

With the tide of the second flood

We will wash the cities of worlds.

 

Skewbald the bull of days.

Slow the cart of years.

Our God is flight.

The heart is our drum.

 

Is there more heavenly than our gold?

Will the wasp of a bullet sting us?

Our weapons are our songs.

Our gold is ringing voices.

 

With greenery lie down, meadow,

Line the bottom of the days.

Rainbow, put a harness on

The fast-flying steeds of the years.

 

You see, the sky of stars is bored!

Without it we weave our songs.

Hey, Great Bear! demand

That we be taken up into heaven alive.

 

Drink, joys! Sing!

In [our] veins spring is poured out.

Heart, beat out the battle cry!

Our breast is the copper of kettledrums.

 

d

 

 

Literary Translation/Adaptation by U.R. Bowie

 

In every marketplace tramp out revolt far and wide!

Raise high your proud heads all marching in line.

With Second Flood’s coming in one mighty tide

We’ll wash clean the cities worldwide till they shine! 

 

Bull’s days skewed.

Pulls carts slow.

Our god’s lewd.

Hearts drum, glow.

 

Ain’t nary heaven more golden than ours.

We’re all immune to the wasp bullet’s sting.

We fight with song that both launders and scours,

Golden our voices that ring out and sing.

 

Grass lea, lie.

Soothe day’s fears.

Rainbow, tie

Steeds’ rude years.

 

See there, the heavenly firmament’s bored!

We’ll do without it as we sow our sap.

Hey you, Great Bear of the sky Overlord,

Tell god to take us alive on his lap!

 

Joys, drink! Sing!

Spring’s awash in our veins. 

Heart, pound, ping!

Kettledrum-pound woes and pains.