The year of war. Poems with quotes

Автор переводов пожелал остаться  неизвестным. Перевод осуществлен при участии Irene Zugasti Hervás Читать полностью

How the Republic comes up

Автор перевода пожелал остаться  неизвестным. Перевод осуществлен при участии Irene Zugasti Hervás

How the Republic comes up

How the Republic comes up:
Blood is mixed with soil,
The fights are going on near the Mariupol*
And near Nijnaya Olkhovaya**.

Novorossia is arising,
Coming out from the thunder storm,
Hanging over us, like a space, full of stars,
Of our realities and our dreams.

If i die — I’ll spring up as spikes,
Of the warm, golden breads***,
Pray for me to the Lord****,
Because I’m fighting for love

To my Motherland, small, or big,*****
Try to clear it out now.
But our fathers were buried here,
As long as our kids here were born.

And to give my life and my youth
For the Motherland, I am ready.
Is it Rus’******, or Novorossia,
I don’t care — It’s my home.

How the Republic comes up:
Blood is mixed with soil,
The fights are going on near the Mariupol*
And near Nijnaya Olkhovaya**

* Mariupol — a city in the area of Donbas, which were under the war activity. Mariupol had around 460 000 citizens (2013 year).

** Nijnaya Olkhovaya — small village, which suffered a lot in case of military actions. Before had around 800 citizens.

*** Spikes of breads — it Russian language is a symbolic name of all spikes, like rye and wheat, which are mostly used to produce typical bred in Russia.

**** Lord — means God.

***** Small or big motherland — in Russian language «Small motherland» means the area of your roots, and the»Big motherland» — is an actual country where you was born. Sometimes it doesn’t depend on geography or politics. For example Israel is called «Small motherland» for jewish people, independent of where do they live. Some people of Donbas call Russia or Rus’ as a «Big Motherland», and Donbas — as a «small» one.
******Rus’ — name of an ancient Russia, which included areas of Donbas. Читать полностью

Among our wild fields

Автор перевода пожелал остаться  неизвестным. Перевод осуществлен при участии Irene Zugasti Hervás

Among our wild fields

Among our wild fields, there are blooming feather and poppy,
Full of snaking tank-cuts, like black ribbons,
And the soldier grows into the new exist,
Now he is a hero. Postmortem.

Among our wild fields, there are saltbush and wormwood,
Mad heads, mad winds.
We’ll put the crosses around the burial hills,
And compose new legends.

Among our wild fields, that are grey of the ashes,
The stems of the everlasting flowers became black,
Here we will die with our enemies,
But in our steppe*, on our Donbass’s ground.

Among our wild fields, there are blooming feather and poppy,
Full of snaking tank-cuts, like black ribbons,
And we will lay down our lives, all as one,
For the rising of our Victory flag!

*steppe — is a type of wide, wild fields, mostly covered with different types of herbs and small bushes. Читать полностью

On the main barricade

Автор перевода пожелал остаться  неизвестным. Перевод осуществлен при участии Irene Zugasti Hervás

On the main barricade

On the main barricade,
Wearing a white balaclava
He watches at the Death.
And she looks so bright,
Her mouth, stained with blood, like with red lipstick,
Tells him: «Come to me.
Oh, how will i love you,
Kiss you, take care of you,
I will take you out of here,
And you name will be forgotten.
My feather grass bed,
Covered with a fresh dew,
I will put you down into it,
And you will forget about everybody.

But he’s still standing, my soldier,
Although en enemy already has him in his crosshairs.
And he is with death, face to face,
But in his wide pupils is a bright light shining. Читать полностью

Were are all the heroes now?

Автор перевода пожелал остаться  неизвестным. Перевод осуществлен при участии Irene Zugasti Hervás

Were are all the heroes now?

Where are all the heroes now?
The heroes are sleeping tight!
In the field, behind the town,
Laying unburied,
Red grass is growing through their chests,
There’s no more shining light in their eyes,
And their lips are bloodless,
No name, no number,
Nobody knows them.
They’ll just go down into the history,
The history of the people,
And the soil will be more fertile,
That soil, that was fed with blood. Читать полностью

We are separated by the borderline

Автор перевода пожелал остаться  неизвестным. Перевод осуществлен при участии Irene Zugasti Hervás

We are separated by the borderline

We are separated by the borderline.
The frontline, the line of life.*
We will dream about each other**,
Only this remains.

I didn’t forget about nothing…
But again — another time,
Mobile connection ends up suddenly,
Remains only connection of our hearts.

No forgive, no revenge,
Only pain, rushing out of my chest.
There is no more ways of connection,
Remains only the Milky Way.

And with help of the shining stars in the sky,
Over exploded bridges,
I am flying, to meet you,
At he height, that you have just cleared.

* here means line on the human’s hand, «line of life» in hand-reading and chiromancy.
** here means to see someone in the dream while sleeping Читать полностью

These russians

Автор перевода пожелал остаться  неизвестным. Перевод осуществлен при участии Irene Zugasti Hervás

These russians

These russian boys never change:
War, revolution, «russian roulette».
To die, before getting old,
As in 19-th, as in 20-th
And 21-st centuries.

These russian girls never change:
Decabrists’s wife*, sister of mercy.
To love, to save lives,
Until heart beats in her chest,
As in 19-th, as in 20-th
And 21-st centuries.

Oh, my russian boy:
War, militia. To die for the Motherland.
Nothing will never change,
Nothing will never change.
Beasts are dancing,
And angels are at the door of eternity.

Oh, I am your russian girl:
Red cross, white bandage, pure alcohol**.
In this meet grinder of dishumanity***,
I’ll give you a shield,
Made of my prays.

Spring is coming. Blossoming apple-trees
Are singing about clean life, without dust of death,
And they seems to be orthodox****, like russians,
That are getting up from their knees after the pray.

* Decabrists — is a name of rebels, who took part in a huge revolt against Nikolay 1-st in December of 1825. A lot of rebels were punished later, many of them were sent to Syberia to work in hard labor-camps. 11 women, the wifes of rebels, went to Syberia with husbands, nevertheless they didn’t have to do it. So in russian language «Decabrist’s wife» is a symbol of the most understanding, loyal and loving woman, who will support ideas of her man and follow him even to the hungry and cold place.

**Pure alcohol — here menas medicinal alcohol, of 96%, which is used to desinfection.
***Dishumanity — here author uses not existing word in russian, which mean that humanity goes back, all the people are doing anti-human things.
****Orthodox church — type of Christianity, which is mostly spread among russian people. Читать полностью

So the War began

Автор перевода пожелал остаться  неизвестным. Перевод осуществлен при участии Irene Zugasti Hervás

So the War began

To give names for the
Heroes.

And Motherland…
Had to clam
Because of sorrow.

He fell down, unnamed,
Among the wild grass,
In the field.

— What is your name?
How can we call you,
Warrior?

— A lot of bright names,
Were burned by the fire
Of wars.

A lot of clear names,
But each of them has
A blood drop.

A lot of glorious names
Mothers and fathers gave to us.
And there is mine among,
And that was the last you ever saw of me.

Читать полностью

Black bread*

Автор перевода пожелал остаться  неизвестным. Перевод осуществлен при участии Irene Zugasti Hervás

Black bread

It was a long harmless time. Long.
It was a long time with no war. Long.

Children had time to grow up.
Grandchildren as well, had time to grow up.

But great grandsons did’t have enough time.
Son told: «I go. Try to forgive»
Than grandson told: «I am off. Let me go»
And great grandsons became pretty older.

And hot blood spread allover again.
And the Motherland was cut and ripped again.
Brother fights against brother, friend against friend.
Mother’s milk turned to black,
As the blood in the people’s hearts turned to black.
Black as an antracite, as our krasnodonsky** coal.
Like the last course of coal. From the bottom of the Earth.
Up, straight out from the Hell.
History is calling for changes
And spinning, spinning, spinning this black millstone.

We became a bricks of black bread on this war,
But who we were… We were golden rye.

*Black bread. In Russia and USSR always was two most popular types of bread: white (made of wheat) and black (made if rye). Sometimes, in Russian language black bread becomes a symbol of war, hunger, disaster or poverty, because when comes some bad time, that can bring hunger, people prepare as much black bread as they can. This bread is cheap, has a lot if calories, easy to keep in dry conditions for several years. In this poem we can see parallel between black colour of coal, black colour of bread, and this symbolism, then people have nothing to eat in case of war, only dry black bread.
**Antracite, Krasnodonsky coal — it is 2 names of a typical sort of coal, which has horror-black color. It is mined and produced on territories of Donbas and Luganskaya area for long times. It is like a symbol for local citizens that doesn’t depend on time, government or politics. Читать полностью