With dumb reproach, I am still waiting
For someone, meaning not a wife,
Let she is good at renovating
The moments of forgotten life.
And not a lover, she is boring:
Her trembling voice, her pleading smile,
I know the passion’s outpouring,
I used to bear the tons of bile.
I wait for just a friend, devoted
To me as a heaven’s age-old goal,
Because my torment should be noted
For height and silence of my soul.
Alas, but he preferred an hour
To ages, taking the remains,
There was no chance into his glower,
He took the mutual dreams for chains.
Валерий Игнатович, поэтический перевод, 2014
Сертификат Поэзия.ру: серия 862 № 106579 от 28.07.2014
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