Aleksandr Pushkin

Go away! The poet blameless
Doesn’t see in you a bit of sense! 
Proceed to stone in sins, shameless
His lyre could not save your race!
Like coffins, you’re by soul rejected.
For all your foolishness and hatred
From ancient times to present days
You had the prisons, axes, canes;
Enough for you, oh, slaves demented!
From noisy streets of yours, lamented,
They sweep off trash – the useful deeds! –
But having left their service, wholly,
Altars and sacrifices, holy,
Aren’t they your priests who sweep the streets?
Not for the wordy agitation,
Not for the gold or bloody ways,
We have been born for inspiration,
For charming sounds and for prayers.


Translated by Yevgeny Bonver, December, 2001