The New Russian Poets: 1953 to 1966 (An Anthology)

By Boris Pasternak, Bulat Okudzhava, George Reavy, Alexander Tvardovsky, Leonid Martynov, Victor Bokov, Boris Slutsky, Yevgeny Vino

Twin language translation (russian and english)

selected, edited, translated and writer of integrated essay "The New traits and Voices in Soviet Poetry"

this is one other an invaluable anthology of Soviet poetry. it really is nowhere close to as accomplished as "20th Century Russian Poetry: Silver and Steel" that's at the tracker. besides the fact that, this does have the good thing about being twin language, to any english talking russian learner, and it has a pleasant essay via the translator.

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M n e Ka^KeTCH, hto JJp e n ^yc — 3TO MemaHCTBO — MOH AOHOCHHK VLCyA^H. H 3a pemeTKOH. fifty one nona;i b Ko;ibno. 3aTpaB^eHHbin, onjieBaHHbiH, oGojirannbin. H AaMOHKH C 6pK)CCe;ibCKHMH o6opKaMH, BH3ma, 30HTaMH TbIHyT MHe B JIHUO. Yevgeny Yevtushenko the branches in all of the gardens bent underneath the nightingales in ecstasy. The song, like a snow fall, lashed one continent after which one other . . . All nightingales will comprehend one another; in every single place they communicate one language. of their tremulous union, they sing ever larger, extra tenderly. yet we males, we could by no means comprehend each one other?! Harvard, U. S. A. , 1961 [1962] BABII YAR No monument stands over Babii Yar. A drop sheer as a crude headstone. i'm afraid. at the present time i'm as outdated in years as the entire Jewish humans. Now I appear to be a Jew. right here I plod via historical Egypt. right here I perish crucified, at the pass, and to this present day I endure the scars of nails. I appear to be Dreyfus. The Philistine is either informer and decide. i'm at the back of bars. Beset on each facet. Hounded, spat on, slandered. Squealing, dainty women in flounced Brussels lace stick their parasols into my face. the hot Russian Poets MHe KaweTCH — fifty one MaJIbHHK B BeJIOCTOKe. KpoBb JibeTCH, pacTeKaHCb no nojiaM. BeCHHHCTByiOT B O ^ A H TpaKTHpHOH CTOHKH h naxH yT b o a ok o h c jiyKOM nonojiaM. canoroM 0T6p0iiieHHbiH, GeccHjieH. H a n p a c H O h norpOMiuHKOB m o j iio . FIoa roroT: «B ew >k h a o b , cnacafi P o c c m o b JIa6a3HHK H36HBaeT MaTb m o i o . O , pyCCKHH MOH HapOA! H 3Haio — Tbi no cym HocTH HHTepnauHOHajieH. H o nacTO Te, HbH pyKH He h h c t m , TBOHM HHCTeHUIHM HMeHCM 6p3UaJIH. H 3Haio Ao6poTy Moefi 3eMjin. ok a okay noAJio, HTO, H )KHJIOHKOH He APOTHyB, aiiTHceMHTbi nbiiuHO H a p e o H ce6n « C o ok )3 o m pyccKoro HapoAa»! MHe KaweTCH — three — 3TO A H H a O p aH okay , npo3paHHan, KaK BeTOHKa b anpejie. H three jho(5jik>. H MHe He HaAO cj)pa3. MHe HaAO, hto6 Apyr b APyra Mbi CMOTpejm. ok a ok MajIO MO^KHO BHAeTb, 0()0H3Tb! HeJIb33 HaM JIHCTbeB h He^b33 HaM He6a. H o m o ^k h o oneHb MHoro — Apyr Apyra b tcm hoh 3TO He>KHO KOMHaTe o6H3Tb. Yevgeny Yevtushenko eighty three I appear to be then a tender boy in Byelostok. Blood runs, spilling over the flooring. The bar-room rabble-rousers supply off a stench of vodka and onion. A boot kicks me apart, helpless. In useless I plead with those pogrom bullies. whereas they jeer and shout, “ Beat the Yids. keep Russia! ” a few grain-marketeer beats up my mom. zero my Russian humans! i do know you're foreign to the center. yet people with unclean arms have usually made a jingle of your purest identify. 1 recognize the goodness of my land. How vile those antisemites— with no qualm they pompously known as themselves “ The Union of the Russian humans” ! I appear to be Anne Frank obvious as a department in April. and that i love. and feature little need of words. My desire is that we gaze into one another. How little we will see or scent! we're denied the leaves, we're denied the sky. but we will accomplish that a lot— tenderly embody one another in a darkened room. the recent Russian Poets CiOAa hayt ? He 6 ohch — 3to ryjibi CaMOH BecHbi — OHa ciOAa H^eT.

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