Konstantin Simonov - Открытое Письмо (Otkrytoe pis'mo) Лирицс транслатион то енглисх

Open Letter

To a woman from the town Vichuga
 
I must inform you, 'tis my sad lot,
That didn't reach the addressee
The letter, that in mailbox you dropped
Sometime ago, so shamelessly.
 
The letter your husband didn't get,
He wasn't wounded by vulgar lines,
He didn't tremble, nor gone mad,
He didn't cursed all, from good old times.
 
When he led his fighters against the foes
Into attack near the ruined station,
The stupid harshness of your words
Luckily, didn't torment him, I'd like to mention.
 
When he was walking hard and swayed,
While tightened with rag his bloody wound,
The letter from you was still on it's way,
Luckily, it was too soon.
 
When on the stones he fell that eve
And death has cut short his final breath,
He still didn't received,
Luckily, your written mess.
 
I can inform you, that right there,
We wrapped him in the soldier's cape,
At night near the city square
We buried him without delay.
 
A poplar, like a sign by the grave
A tin star is standing there...
And I forgot, that you, by the way,
Perhaps, completely do not care.
 
The letter was brought, before the sun was out...
And because the addressee was dead,
We read it between ourselves aloud-
So you have to forgive us soldiers for that.
 
Perhaps, your memory is short
Then on behalf of the whole regiment,
By common wish we thought
To remind you the content..
 
You wrote, that almost a year has gone,
Since you've met your new man.
And old one, even if he will return,
You, anyway don't give a damn.
 
That troubless life you live,
You live well and by the way, you took a chance,
And now, you have no need to receive
The lieutenant's small allowance.
 
That he shouldn't wait for letters from you
And didn't bother you again...
Precisely, 'didn't bother' you...
You chose the words that brings more pain.
 
And that was all. And nothing else
We patiently read it, there were no sound,
All those words, that just for him
In hour of need, in your soul you've found.
 
'Husband'. 'The allowance''Don't bother'...
So, where did you lose your soul?
After all, he was a soldier, a brother!
And we're with him for you were dying , after all.
 
I do not wish to judge you from above,
Not everyone wins with separation fight,
Not all are capable of eternal love,-
Unfortunately, everything can happen in life.
 
But how could you, I do not understand,
The cause of death without fear to become,
So indifferently, all of a sudden, a plague you've sent
In an envelope to us at the front.
 
Well, let's say, he is not loved, your man,
Let's say, you don't need him, it's the end,
Let's say, you will live with another, madam
God help him, be it a husband or a friend.
 
But the soldier is not to blame
Because he doesn't have the leave,
That third year in row he remains,
In harm's way, while defending you from enemies.
 
So, why couldn't you write at all
Let's say the bitter words, but fair,
If you couldn't find them in your soul-
Then you should've borrow them anywhere.
 
Luckily, we have in our motherland,
Enough of woman with pure soul and mind,
They would've honor you , and then
They would've wrote for you these lines.
 
They would've found for you the words,
To ease some strangers woes,
We bow before them our heads to earth,
For their great soul we bow.
 
Not to you, but to other woman,
Taken away from us by war,
We want to write about you to them,
And let them know, what we're blame you for,
 
That here, at the front, their men,
Sometime fighting inside their soul, alone,
With anxious trepidation waiting for them
Before the fight, the letters from home.
 
We've read yours, it didn't do us any good
Now, the bitterness torment us in secret:
What if you're not alone, who could?
What if someone else will get it?
 
To court of our distant wives
We'll send you, you've slendered them
And planted doubts in our lives
You gave us a reason for a moment.
 
Let them occused you, mam,
That soul of bird you hid,
That you as a wife and woman
Were posing since you were married.
 
And your ex husband, he is killed, whence
All is good. Live now with the one you've got.
Alas, the dead one will not offend
In the letter, with long unnecessary word.
 
Live without fear of guilt, forevermore,
He will not write, he won't reply
And when he returns to city from the war,
He won't meet you with another walking by.
 
Only for one more thing, to forgive him
You have to, because, madam,
Perhaps, for a month more will bring
For you the letters, your local postman.
 
There is nothing can be done-
The bullet faster than a letter flyes.
The letters will in September come,
But he was killed, already in July.
 
Every line is about you in them,
For you, it's not pleasant of course-
Then on behalf of the whole regiment
I'm taking back his words.
 
So, from us, at the end, do except
Our content, as a farewell.
You don't deserve our respect
Comrades of arms of the deceased
 
On behalf of the officers of the regiment
K. Simonov
 


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