Alexander Pushkin Quotes

"قال بوشكين فى قصيدته "إلى شادَييف"ـ

ومادامت شعلة الحرية تحيا فينا،
وما دمنا قد سرنا وراء صوت الشرف.
فلنمنح روسيا ،يا رفاق،
أرواحنا كاملة بلا نقصان.

أيها الصديق المخلص:

السماء الساهرة تبشر بفجر المعجزة
لسوف تنهض روسيا من نومها الطويل،
وفيما تحطم الطغيان،نافدة الصبر،
ستحفر اسماءنا على أنقاضه!ـ"

Недуг, которого причину
Давно бы отыскать пора,
Подобный английскому сплину,
Короче: русская хандра

Şi iar cuprins de trândăvie, Cu suflet gol şi răvăşit, Se-aşază lacom el să fie De minţi străine instruit. Înşiră cărţi pe etajere, Romane seci şi efemere, Cu conţinut şi sterp şi-anost Citeşte mult şi fără rost. Dar un urât de moarte-l paşte: Ici se agită-o pocitură, Colea o nouă secătură. Femei şi cărţi îl fac să caşte; Şi peste tomurile grele, Tronând în praf, a tras perdele. Scăpând de-a lumii grea povară, Ca el, fugind de vălmăşag, M-atrase prietenia-i rară Şi chipul său atât de drag: Cu însuşirea-i spre visare Şi înclinările-i bizare; La minte rece şi tăios, Eu învrăjbit, el neguros, Ne-am potrivit în patimi jocul.

God save us from seeing a Russian revolt, senseless and merciless. Those who plot impossible upheavals among us, are either young and do not know our people, or are hard-hearted men who do not care a straw either about their own lives or those of others.

هر انکه اسیر عواطف خود نگرانست
نگران رویای گذشته
زین پس دگر نخواهد شد هرگز
دچار سحر و جادو فتنه
نشیند بر دلش مار ندامت
مار یادها و خاطرات گذشته

Я пережил свои желанья / I've lived to bury my desires

Я пережил свои желанья,
Я разлюбил свои мечты;
Остались мне одни страданья,
Плоды сердечной пустоты.

I've lived to bury my desires
and see my dreams corrode with rust
now all that's left are fruitless fires
that burn my empty heart to dust.

O flowers, country, love, inaction,
O fields! I am your devotee!
I always note with satisfaction
Onegin’s difference from me,
Lest somewhere a sarcastic reader
Or publisher or such-like breeder
Of complicated calumny
Discerns my physiognomy
And shamelessly repeats the fable
That I have crudely versified
Myself like Byron, bard of pride,
As if we were no longer able
To write a poem and discuss
A subject not concerning us.

Whom then to love? Whom to have faith in?
Who can there be who won’t betray?
Who’ll judge a deed or disputation
Obligingly by what we say?
Who’ll not bestrew our path with slander?
Who’ll cosset us with care and candour?
Oh, ineffectual phantom seeker
You waste your energy in vain:
Love your own self, be your own man,
My worthy, venerable reader!
A worthwhile object: surely who
Could be more lovable than you?

He who has lived and thought can't help
despising people in his soul;
him who has felt disturbs
the ghost of irrecoverable days;
for him there are no more enchantments;
him does the snake of memories,
him does repentance bite.

Я вас любил.../I loved you once...

Я вас любил: любовь еще, быть может
В душе моей угасла не совсем;
Но пусть она вас больше не тревожит;
Я не хочу печалить вас ничем.
Я вас любил безмолвно, безнадежно,
То робостью, то ревностью томим;
Я вас любил так искренно, так нежно,
Как дай вам бог любимой быть другим.

I loved you once: perhaps that love has yet
To die down thoroughly within my soul;
But let it not dismay you any longer;
I have no wish to cause you any sorrow.
I loved you wordlessly, without a hope,
By shyness tortured, or by jealousy.
I loved you with such tenderness and candor
And pray God grants you to be loved that way again.

So meanwhile, friends, enjoy your blessing:
This fragile life that hurries so!
Its worthlessness needs no professing,
And I'm not loathe to let it go;
I've closed my eyes to phantoms gleaming,
Yet distant hopes within me dreaming
Still stir my heart at times to flight:
I'd grieve to quit this world's dim light
And leave no trace, however slender.
I live, I write - not seeking fame;
And yet, I think, I'd wish to claim
For my sad lot its share of splendour — At least one note to linger long,
Recalling, like some friend, my song.

Что наши лучшие желанья,
Что наши свежие мечтанья
Истлели быстрой чередой,
Как листья осенью гнилой.

I loved you: and, it may be, from my soul
The former love has never gone away,
But let it not recall to you my dole;
I wish not sadden you in any way.

I loved you silently, without hope, fully,
In diffidence, in jealousy, in pain;
I loved you so tenderly and truly,
As let you else be loved by any man.

Love passed, the Muse appeared, the weather
of mind got clarity new-found;
now free, I once more weave together
emotion, thought, and magic sound.

A magic moment I remember:
I raised my eyes and you were there,
A fleeting vision, the quintessence
Of all that's beautiful and rare
I pray to mute despair and anguish,
To vain the pursuits world esteems,
Long did I hear your soothing accents,
Long did your features haunt my dreams.
Time passed. A rebel storm-blast scattered
The reveries that once were mine
And I forgot your soothing accents,
Your features gracefully divine.
In dark days of enforced retirement
I gazed upon grey skies above
With no ideals to inspire me
No one to cry for, live for, love.
Then came a moment of reinessance,
I looked up - you again are there
A fleeting vision, the quintessence
Of all that's beautiful and rare

– Alexander Sergeyevich Pushkin, “A Magic Moment I Remember,” The Poetry of Alexander Sergeyevich (Portable Poetgry, January 27th 2014) Originally published 1821