Speaking In Tongues
Guided by Voices

Èâàí Âèíîãðàäîâ

Ivan Vinogradov

Translated by Alec Vagapov

 
 

ÁÛÒÜ ËÞÁÈÌÛÌ ËÅÃÊÎ...

IT’S EASY TO BE LOVED...

 
 
Ìíîãî áûëî ðàçëóê,
Ìíîãî ëèâíåé è ãðîç.
Òîëüêî íå áûëî ìóê,
Òîëüêî íà áûëî ñëåç.
 
Øåë íàâñòðå÷ó âåòðàì,
Ìåðèë äàëüíîñòü äîðîãî,
Òîëüêî íå áûëî ðàí,
Íå áûë ìîêðûì ïëàòîê
 
...ß ñòîþ, íå äûøà,
Ñåðäöà ñëóøàþ áîé.
Ëåäåíååò äóøà
Îò ðàçëóêè ñ òîáîé.
 
Íå õî÷ó è î êîì
Íè ñóäèòü: íè ðÿäèòü...
.................................
Áûòü ëþáèìûì ëåãêî,
Î÷åíü òðóäíî ëþáèòü..
 
 
There’ve been thunderbolts, rains,
Separations and fears,
But there haven’t been pains,
And there haven’t been tears.
 
I have faced blowing winds,
Many roads I’ve got by,
But there haven’t been wounds
And my kerchief’s been dry.
 
Now my breath I can’t hold
Nor the beat of my heart,
And my blood’s running cold
Now that we are apart.
 
Far be it from me
To censure like daft...
...............................
It’s harder to be
In love than be loved.
 
 

* * *

 
 

* * *

 
 
Ìû åëè ÿáëîêî âäâîåì:
Êóñàë ÿ ñïðàâà, à òû ñëåâà.
 âîîáðàæåíèè ìîåì
Ïðåäñòàëè âäðóã Àäàì è Åâà
 
È õîòü çàâåòíóþ ÷åðòó
Íå ïåðåøëè ìû, íåò. È âñå æå
Íà òó áèáëåéñêóþ ÷åòó
Ìû áûëè î÷åíü óæ ïîõîæè
 
 
We ate an apple, you and I,
You’d bite at one side, I at the other.
And suddenly in my mind’s eye
I thought we were Eve and Adam,
 
And though we had to draw the line
At getting into sweet good «trouble»
We did appear to be like
That famous couple from the Bible.



ÏÐÎÂÎÄÛ

SEEING MY DARLING OFF

 
 
Äàæå íåáî ñåãîäíÿ ïóñòî,
Ìðà÷íî õìóðèòñÿ ñ âûñîòû.
Åìó òîæå, íàâåðíî, ãðóñòíî
Îò òîãî, ÷òî óåäåøü òû.
 
Íåáî, íåáî! Ìû îáà ñêó÷àåì,
Îáà âìåñòå ÷åãî-òî æäåì,
ßðêèì ñîëíöåì åå âñòðå÷àåì,
À ïðîâîæàåì — äîæäåì.
 
Îäèíîêî ñòîþ íà ïåððîíå,
Âåñü îñóíóëñÿ è óãàñ.
...Ïàäàþò êàïëè â ìîè ëàäîíè,
Òî ëè ñ íåáà, òî ëè èç ãëàç.
 
 
Now the sky looks at me with a frown,
It’s so dull and deserted today,
It’s upset, I suppose it is down
‘cause my darling is going away.
 
Oh my heaven, we both miss her badly!
And we both hope for something again.
We meet her with sunshine gladly
And we see her off always with rain.
 
Here I stand on the platform, worrying
Broken-hearted, as cold as ice.
...Down on me little drops are a-falling.
From the sky, or perhaps from my eyes.
 
 

ÏÐÈÌÅÒÀ

 
 

THE OMEN

 
 
Ãîâîðÿò,
×òî æåëòûé öâåò ê èçìåíå.
Çà ìîèì îêíîì
Ïûëàåò êëåí.
×òî ñóëèò ìíå
ßðêèé ëèñò îñåííèé?
Íå èçìåíó ëü
Ïðåäâåùàåò îí?
 
ß íå ñóåâåðåí,
Õîòü íåðåäêî âèæó äàëü,
Êàê ñåðîå ñóêíî.
È ãðóùó, êîãäà ÿíòàðíîé âåòêîé
Ìàøåò êëåí â îòêðûòîå îêíî.
 
 
People say
That yellow means betrayal.
Outside my window
There’s a tree.
What do autumns leaves
portend in real?
Do they signify adultery?
 
Though not superstitious,
I am anxious
For my prospects
Which look dull and gray.
And I feel upset when amber branches
Outside my window sway.