A keresés eredménye

We teach airplanes to fly

We teach airplanes to fly,
We teach them to conquer fear,
This is our job -
Teaching airplanes to fly.
 

Steppe and steppe - no end

Steppe and steppe - no end
And the trip is long
Coachman’s tired and
Freezing to the bone.
 
Having lost strength and
Feeling death is near
He has asked his friend:
“Do my will, please, dear,
 
Hear me loud and clear
Please, forget the bad,
Bury me right here,
In this steppe I’m dead.
 
And my horses, friend,
Take them to my Dad
To my Mom I send
Love and bows instead
 
To my wife you bring
A loving farewell
And the wedding ring
Thank God, we lived well
 
Tell her she should not
Grieve for very long
She should tie the knot
With a guy who’s strong
 
The steppe got me killed
With its freezing cold
But her love, fulfilled,
In the grave, I’ll hold ”
 

The foggy morning

The morning is foggy, the morning is bleak.
The wheat fields look so sad,
Covered with snow.
Your mind reluctantly flies to the past times.
Tries to remember the long forgotten faces.
 
You will recall those exuberant passionate speeches.
The coveted glances
So shyly exchanged.
The first encounter,
The last tryst,
The sounds of the quiet voice you loved so dearly.
 
You will recall the parting
With a strange smile,
You will recall plenty,
The dear things, the distant troubles,
All the while listening to the endless rapping of the wheels,
Looking wistfully into the wide sky.
 

The Cranes

Versions: #8
Nahum Grebnev (Nahum Rambach)
[from Rasul Gamzatov]
 
The Cranes
 
Sometimes I feel that all those fallen soldiers,
Who never left the bloody battle zones,
Have not been buried to decay and molder,
But turned into white cranes that softly groan.
 
And thus, until these days since those bygone times,
They still fly in the skies and gently cry.
Isn’t it why we often hear those sad chimes
And calmly freeze, while looking in the sky?
 
A tired flock of cranes still flies – their wings flap.
Birds glide into the twilight, roaming free.
In their formation I can see a small gap –
It might be so, that space is meant for me.
 
The day shall come, when in a mist of ashen
I’ll soar with cranes, and final rest I’ll find,
From the skies calling – in a bird-like fashion –
All those of you, who I’ll have left behind.
 
Sometimes I feel that all those fallen soldiers,
Who never left the bloody battle zones,
Have not been buried to decay and molder,
But turned into white cranes that softly groan…
 
Translation in verse by Leo Schwartzberg © 2018
 

How can I not love you, Kyiv, my life!

Quiet day slowly fading, with lights playing the sea,
The green slopes of Dnieper became dear to me,
Where the branches are swaying of lovers delights...
How can I not love you, Kyiv, my life!
Like a happiness surf, the velvet of nights...
How can I not love you, Kyiv, my life!
 
*Cannas look in my eyes, into them I'll pour my heart,
Let them tell my beloved, how true is my love.
On the wings of the hopes I will live, I'll fly...
How can I not love you, Kyiv, my life!
 
A weary city is sleeping, peacefully, gently till Dawn,
Look, the lights, like a necklace, over Dnieper are on,
Like a happiness surf, the velvet of night...
How can I not love you, Kyiv, my life!
Like a happiness surf, the velvet of night...
How can I not love you, Kyiv, my life!