И. А. БУНИН (1870-1953) ПОСЛЕДНИЕ СЛЕЗЫ, Ivan Bunin, Translation of Poem, "Belated Tears."

 

И. А. БУНИН

(1870-1953)

ПОСЛЕДНИЕ СЛЕЗЫ

Изнемогла, в качалке задремала
Под дачный смех. Синели небеса.
Зажглась звезда. Потом свежее стало.
Взошла луна — и смолкли голоса.

Текла и млела в море полоса.
Стекло балконной двери заблистало.
И вот она проснулась и устало
Поправила сухие волоса.

Подумала. Полюбовалась далью.
Взяла ручное зеркальце с окна —
И зеркальце сверкнуло синей сталью.
Ну да, виски белеют: седина.

Бровь поднята, измучена печалью.
Светло глядит холодная луна.

<1906—1908>

d

 

Literal Translation

Last Tears

 

Enervated, she dozed off in a rocker

To the background laughter of the dacha. The skies went dark blue.

A star sparkled. Then [the air] grew fresher.

The moon came up—and the voices went silent.

 

Strips [of moonlight] flowed on, languishing in the sea.

The glass on the door of the balcony gleamed.

And that’s when she awoke and wearily

Began straightening her dry hair.

 

She mused. She admired the distant view.

Took a hand mirror from the windowsill—

And the mirror shone a blue steel.

Well, yes, a whitening on the temples: gray hair.

 

Her brow was furrowed, tormented by sorrow.

Brightly gazed down the cold moon.

 

d

 

Literary Translation/Adaptation by U.R. Bowie

 

Belated Tears

 

Exhausted, limp, she dozed in chair of wicker

While dacha guests laughed on; the sky shone blue.

The air grew crisp, a single star went flicker.

Arose the moon—the voices silent grew.  

 

In strips of languor on the sea flowed moonlight.

The glass on terrace gleamed with mute allure.

She woke up drained; her guests had bid good night. 

She touched and patted at her dry coiffure.

 

She pondered, mused. Admired the seascape splendor.

From windowsill she took a looking glass—

That mirror glistened steel-blue and tender.

Well, yes, gray on the temples, aging fast.

 

A furrowed brow, the torment life had sent her.

The cold moon gazed on tears welled up at last.

 

d

 

“Bunin’s sonnets are the best in Russian poetry. His unusual eyesight notices the edge of a black shadow on a moonlit street, the special density of blue sky through leaves, the spots of sun slipping like lace across the backs of horses.”

Vladimir Nabokov

 

[from a review in Russian (1929) of Ivan Bunin, Selected Poems. Translated into English in Vladimir Nabokov, Think, Write Speak: Uncollected Essays, Reviews, Interviews (edited by Brian Boyd and Anastasia Tolstoy), New York: Knopf, 2019, p. 84-87.]