[Jennifer Reeser]

Returning from a journey, to what I'd long abandoned...
Mikhail Scherbakov

Returning from a journey to what I'd long abandoned,
Instead of joy and comfort, I'll find an empty dwelling.
And in the flowerbed, by the house's twisted railing,
I'll see a flattened gravestone, and read a name upon it -
And, leaning on the railing, I will cry out in turmoil:
“How can this be, Maria? I didn't see this coming.
I thought that you would save me, the way you always had done.
I trusted in your powers. I really thought you knew it all...”

My words will move the gravestone. And blades of grass will rustle.
And I will hear a message, delivered very clearly:
“Change your direction, stranger. You had the wrong idea.
I'm not a mighty goddess, nor an aloof enchantress.
Though, I exist in ways that no human can imagine:
I can forego enjoyment, I can refrain from loving,
I can cast off my memories, I can deny my sorrow,
I can be mute and absent - but I cannot refuse to die...”

And once again there's quiet. But soon, indistinct footsteps
Will creak along the pathway – must be the local guardsman -
He'll ask me, what's the honour? And I will lie and tell him
That I mixed up the address. And turn to face the gateway.
And mirth will shake the gravestone. And blades of grass will tremble.
And with his muffled footsteps, the guard will cross the treshold,
To mark my name upon his long-cultivated guest book.
Thus turns to writing that, which - once upon a time - was me.


Издалека вернувшись туда, где не был долго...
Михаил Щербаков

Издалека вернувшись туда, где не был долго,
взамен жилья и счастья найду пустые стены.
А в цветнике у дома за чугуном ажурным
увижу плоский камень, прочту на камне имя -
и, прислонясь к решетке, произнесу в смятенье:
"Ну как же так, Мария? Я ожидал иного.
Я думал, ты еще раз спасешь меня, как прежде.
Я был уверен. Я полагал, ты можешь все..."

И шевельнется камень, и покачнутся стебли.
И я услышу голос, который внятно молвит:
"Меняй дорогу, путник. Ты был неправ, как видишь.
Я не богиня вовсе, и не колдунья даже,
хоть и могу такое, чего никто не может:
могу не знать отрады, могу не быть любимой,
могу не ждать, не помнить, могу не петь,. не плакать,
могу не жить на свете, но не могу не умирать..."

И снова все умолкнет. Но вскоре тихим шагом
из дома выйдет некто - должно быть, местный сторож -
и спросит, чем обязан. И я солгу поспешно,
что перепутал адрес. И повернусь к воротам.
И засмеется камень, и отшатнутся стебли.
И тихим шагом сторож пойдет обратно к дому,
чтоб начертать отметку в своей учетной книге.
Так превратится в почерк то, что когда - то было мной.

(Judge's literal crib and transliteration below):

From afar having returned there where I was not long,
Instead of habitation and happiness I shall find empty walls.
And in a flower bed at the house behind pig-iron openwork
I shall see a flat stone, read on a stone a name-
And, leaning on the lattice, I shall say in confusion:
" Well, is this so, Maria? I expected otherwise.
I thought, you once again will rescue{save} me, as before.
I have been assured{confident}. I believed, you can do all... "

Both the stone will be stirred, and stalks will sway.
And I shall hear a voice which distinctly says:
" Change road, traveller. You were wrong, as you see.
I am not a goddess at all, and not a sorceress even,
Though I can do such that nobody can:
I can not know a joy, I can not be a favourite,
I can not wait, not remember, I can not sing. I cannot cry,
I can not live on light, but I should die... "

And again all will stop. But soon silent step
The house will be left by somebody - should be, the local watchman-
Also will ask, than it is obliged. And I hastily lie,
That I have mixed the address. Also I shall turn to a gate.
Both the stone will laugh, and the stalks will recoil.
And with silent step the watchman will go back to the house,
To trace a mark in the registration book.
So that when - that which was me will turn to handwriting.



Izdaleka vernuvshis' tuda, gde ne byl dolgo...
Mihail Shherbakov

Izdaleka vernuvshis' tuda, gde ne byl dolgo,
vzamen zhil'ja i schast'ja najdu pustye steny.
A v cvetnike u doma za chugunom azhurnym
uvizhu ploskij kamen', prochtu na kamne imja -
i, prislonjas' k reshetke, proiznesu v smjaten'e:
"Nu kak zhe tak, Marija? Ja ozhidal inogo.
Ja dumal, ty eshhe raz spasesh' menja, kak prezhde.
Ja byl uveren. Ja polagal, ty mozhesh' vse..."

I shevel'netsja kamen', i pokachnutsja stebli.
I ja uslyshu golos, kotoryj vnjatno molvit:
"Menjaj dorogu, putnik. Ty byl neprav, kak vidish'.
Ja ne boginja vovse, i ne koldun'ja dazhe,
hot' i mogu takoe, chego nikto ne mozhet:
mogu ne znat' otrady, mogu ne byt' ljubimoj,
mogu ne zhdat', ne pomnit', mogu ne pet',. ne plakat',
mogu ne zhit' na svete, no ne mogu ne umirat'..."

I snova vse umolknet. No vskore tihim shagom
iz doma vyjdet nekto - dolzhno byt', mestnyj storozh -
i sprosit, chem objazan. I ja solgu pospeshno,
chto pereputal adres. I povernus' k vorotam.
I zasmeetsja kamen', i otshatnutsja stebli.
I tihim shagom storozh pojdet obratno k domu,
chtob nachertat' otmetku v svoej uchetnoj knige.
Tak prevratitsja v pocherk to, chto kogda - to bylo mnoj.