Translation of Poem by Aleksandr Blok, Александр Блок, "Всё это было, было, было," ALL THAT HAS BEEN IS GONE, EVANISHED

 

Александр Блок

(1880-1921)

 

Всё это было, было, было, 
Свершился дней круговорот. 
Какая ложь, какая сила 
Тебя, прошедшее, вернет? 

 

В час утра, чистый и хрустальный, 
У стен Московского Кремля, 
Восторг души первоначальный 
Вернет ли мне моя земля? 

 

Иль в ночь на Пасху, над Невою, 
Под ветром, в стужу, в ледоход — 
Старуха нищая клюкою 
Мой труп спокойный шевельнет? 

Иль на возлюбленной поляне 
Под шелест осени седой 
Мне тело в дождевом тумане 
Расклюет коршун молодой? 

 

Иль просто в час тоски беззвездной, 
В каких-то четырех стенах, 
С необходимостью железной 
Усну на белых простынях? 

И в новой жизни, непохожей, 
Забуду прежнюю мечту, 
И буду так же помнить дожей, 
Как нынче помню Калиту? 

 

Но верю — не пройдет бесследно 
Всё, что так страстно я любил, 
Весь трепет этой жизни бедной, 
Весь этот непонятный пыл!

❂❂❂❂

Август 1909

d

Literal Translation

All of that was, was, was [has been, has been],

The cycle of days has closed.

What lie, what power

Will return you, the past?

 

At one in the morning, by the walls of the Moscow Kremlin,

That primordial ecstasy of my soul,

Pure and crystalline,

Will my land return it to me?

 

Or on the eve of Easter, above the Neva,

In the wind and chill, as the ice floes move,

Will an old beggar woman with a crutch

Go poking about at my tranquil corpse?

 

Or on my beloved glade

To the rustling sounds of a gray autumn,

Will a young vulture peck at

My body in a rainy haze?

 

Or simply in an hour of starless grief,

Surrounded by some four walls,

With an ironclad inevitability,

Will I fall asleep on white sheets?

 

And in my new life, which does not resemble the past one,

I’ll forget my previous dream,

And will I remember the Doge’s palace,

The same way I remember Ivan Kalita now?

 

But I believe [that] it will not pass without a trace,

All that I so passionately loved,

All the quivering thrill of that poor life,

All of that incomprehensible fervor!

 

d

 

Literary Translation/Adaptation by U.R. Bowie

 

All that has been is gone, evanished,

The roundabout of days is through.

No lie, no force depleted, banished,  

Can realign the long-skewed queue.

At one a.m. by Kremlin towers

My soul felt pure and crystalline,

Embodied with pristine bright powers;

No more can that sheer joy be mine.

On Neva bridge some Easter eve,

In wind and chill as ice-floes rumble,

Could be some beggar-crone naive

Will poke about my corpse and mumble.

 

Or maybe on my favorite glade

As autumn grayness keens, laments,

A half-grown vulture will parade,

My body peck, leave gashes, rents.

It could be, though, midst star-blight grievous,

Surrounded by some four walls bleak, 

The way fate makes things firm but specious,

On clean white sheets I’ll fall asleep. 

And in my new life, void of malice,

My old dreams will the new dispel,

Ivan Kalita, the Doge’s Palace,

Will side by side in memory dwell.

The old, that said, its trace will leave,

All that is cherished, loved of men,

My poor life, blessèd and bereaved,

The fervor, zeal beyond our ken!  

 

d

 

Translator’s Note

 

The “beloved glade” in the fourth stanza is at Blok’s Shakhmatov estate.

Next to last stanza:

Ivan Kalita—Russian tsar, Ivan I (Danilovich), Grand Duke of Muscovy, ruled from 1325. Died in 1340 or 1341. He was known by the sobriquet “Kalita” (Moneybags).

The Doge’s Palace—once residence of the Doge of Venice, supreme authority of the former Republic of Venice, the palace is one of the main landmarks of the city in Italy. Built in 1340, it is now a museum.