I thought of the Russian poet Georgi Vladimir milovic Ivanov in the "Silver Age" (1894- 1958). There are not many translations of his poems in China. Like other Akme poets, he fought against the obscurity and obscurity of symbolism by being objective, accurate, concrete and taking poetry as a craft. Brock praised his poems as "impeccable in form", "full of wisdom and interest" and "with great cultural insight". However, I think his translated poems are exactly what I want to be, and I feel the same way!
Winter is coming. ...
if winter comes ,
Leaves will fall—
Water will turn into ice,
What about you, my love?
White snowflakes,
Will cover the ripples,
The world will lose its warmth,
What about you, dear?
When spring comes back,
The snow melted again,
Light and heat will come back,
What about you, dear?
I'm no better or worse. ...
I'm no better or worse.
Still stepping on that land,
Just in eternal music and me
The distance between them has narrowed.
I waited for the distance to disappear,
I waited for the voice of words,
In the glory of disaster and victory,
My heart will also disappear.
When freedom comes surprisingly early and cold ...
When freedom comes surprisingly early and cold,
Nothing has changed, everything has changed,
I've had too many dreams for years,
I finally woke up, where did the time go!
Now I'm walking in the autumn fields,
Everything is as usual, but unlike usual,
It's like I was released from the cage,
But refused to give me the last hope.
Repeated rain and snowflakes ...
Repeated rain and snowflakes,
Gentle and sad over and over again,
As we all know,
I know it like the back of my hand.
Through the illusion of Russian birch,
Levites (1) clear and quiet,
Repeat the same question over and over again:
"How did you end this life?"
(1) the 19th century famous Russian painter.
I live in a fog. ...
I live in a fog,
I seem to be living in a beautiful dream,
In fantasy, in a transcendental way,
But now I have to wake up.
Wake up and have a look at this horrible scene.
Take a look at the absurdity of my fate.
..... about the snow in Russia and the cold in Russia. ...
Ah, if, if ... I hope. ...
The game of fate. The game of good and evil ...
The game of fate. The game of good and evil
The game of wisdom. A game of imagination.
"Look at me in the mirror and I will look at you.
Suddenly distorted each other's image ... "
Someone said to me, "You won the game!"
It's all the same anyway. I will never play games again.
If, as a poet, I will live forever,
However, as a person, I am dying.
We are not young, but we are not old. ...
We are not young, but we are not old.
We don't die or live.
We listened to the melodious guitar.
And that romantic song "Unknown Words".
Singing the forgotten happiness of tsugaoka,
Singing crazy love and parting,
Like a challenge, that trembling hand
Raise your glass full of champagne. Cheers:
For boredom, for failure,
For all the lost treasures,
In order not to do it,
I don't need anyone to help me.
(translated by Gu Yunpu)