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Igor Severyanin - Беседа Самоварова с Кофейкиным (диалог) (Beseda Samovarova s Kofeykinym) Лирицс транслатион то енглисх


Translation

Conversation of Samovarov with Coffeekin (dialogue)


Samovarov:
Why do you drink lazily? Well, well,
Let’s grab the second one…
 
Coffeekin:
Allow, I have to console a friend:
Well, be well, my kind one…
 
Samovarov:
And you. Snack on herring.
Or – choose – on salmon.
Pickles with vodka are pleasant…
 
Coffeekin:
Me you should not treat,
I, brother, myself will find,
What to select: the choice is big,
And if on occasion I got drunk,
I’ll say that it was your treat.
 
Samovarov:
Well, don’t philosophize:
Know how to drink: and none any more…
If the widow, become a widow –
Drink more in your bitter thoughts.
 
Coffeekin:
And, brother, there is not much sorrow
And I must drink straight ahead.
Only if health did allow, -
I can pour in the angst.
 
Samovarov:
Whose health, are you ill?
You’re full of strength, healthy, like a bull!
You must be glad for this all.
 
Coffeekin:
My heart you do not see
And you tell, this way, foolishly,
What comes into your head.
A strong nature I possess,
I’m not the same in heart.
 
Samovarov:
Well, fool has left for Cupid!
 
Coffeekin:
When my hostess died,
Leaving five birdlings behind,
I knew the sorrow… You know,
You experience what means “widow.”
 
Samovarov:
Eh, you tire me. You only know
How on all to chase boredom,
Let’s catch better, well,
Don’t force to regale.
Eh, I remember sometimes, Peter,
How our life we lived,
How were taken away souls of ours,
How much money we burned.
And I feel sorry, I remember sweetly:
Thus this life like life has been!
You and I lived squatting,
See – and old age has come.
Recall how we drunk at Lidya’s
“Clicquot,” and different “die.”
Wherefore there, sights having seen
And lived sweetly, be it damned.
And how French women they had bathed
In champagne, do you recollect?
Ha, ha, ha!
We poured dozens into bathtubs
And drank, drank a lot.
Once, I recall, we on a troika
Of company daring and warm,
In friendly drinking bout we went,
“Shattered having licked yourself,” home
We drove. In our face a man
Directly drives with the logs.
Shouts the drunken coachman:
“Eh, turn away the nags!” –
And he, rascal, does not blow into mustache,
We shout, as if not to him,
“You know where spends winter the crawfish?
We’ll show the winter to thee.”
Loudly here we laughed,
On troika arched the whip the coachman,
And here with the little man’s logs
The old jester turned over…
 




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