August

So generous was august, dropping stars,
So unthinking - in the set for property,
And dwellers' faces of Rostov-town,
Of all the south dwellers - turned to spectacle.

I'm thanking my good fate for fall
Of shining stars down on naked shoulders,
So similar is downfall of all
The lilac inflorescence in the garden old.

We watched for long the sunset at that time,
Our neighbours were such angry with the keys,
When a musician leaned to the old piano
With his grey-haired head, deriving music.

We were the sounds of one single music.
Oh, we could then untune the instrument,
But this accord from you to me
Was hardly to be torn or ruined.

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poem by Bella Akhmadulina, translated by Lyudmila Purgina
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September, I-III

To Yury Nagibin

I
What's an awful weather outdoors? However,
Of no matter such an incident -
In january I'm living as in september,
Persistently and frenzily.

September, don't draw your wing,
Your wing of yellow-orange colour,
And, please, postpone your last will,
Your last day - give me linger, rather.

Wait me a little, don't sleep,
All enveloped by the will of grantor,
And, as in past times, waste your riches,
Indulge all growing trees with bounty.

What it had been! How the grass had strained
In order to turn green with such completeness,

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poem by Bella Akhmadulina, translated by Lyudmila Purgina
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