For you, Robert! Sergey Yesenin.

[Balu]

I haven"t forgotten you, dearie,
The shine of your hair and all.
It wasn"t so easy and cheery
To leave you, as I recall.

I haven"t forgotten the autumn,
The rustle of birches, the night;
And though the days were shorter
The moonlight was long and bright.

You whispered these words in my ear:
"The years and the dreams will be gone,
You"ll go with another, my dear,
And leave me all on my own".

That lime standing there, in flower,
Reminds my emotion anew
The way I would tenderly shower
Those beautiful flowers on you.

My heart will be warm, sad and sorry,
In love, remembering well
You, friend, as a fanciful story
Of love with another girl.
.................................................. .

Scarlet light of sunset shows up on the lake.
Grouses are crying in the wood, awake.

Hidden in hollow, cries an oriole.
I don"t feel like crying, brightness in my soul.

You"ll come out to meet me later in the day,
We"ll sit down there under stack of hay.

I will kiss and squeeze you, like an ardent boy!
One can"t blame a man for being drunk with joy.

You will chuck your kerchief as I hold you tight,
I will keep you, tipsy, in the bush all night.

Let the birds keep crying as we neck and bask.
There"s a happy yearning in the purple dusk.

.................................................. .......................

I do believe in happiness!
The sun has not yet faded. Rays
Of sunrise like a book of prayers
Predict the happy news. Oh yes!
I do believe in happiness!

Ring , golden Russia, carry on,
Oh blow you wind, so unabated!
Blessed is the one who celebrated
Your shepherd"s sadness, hope forlorn.
Ring, golden Russia, carry on!

I love the wild impetuous streams,
The shine of stars upon the water.
The blessed dejection, crying quarter,
The blessing people and extremes
Of roaring wild impetuous streams.

.................................................. ...

Maybe, it's too late or, maybe, early,
It has not occurred to me for years,
I resemble now Don Juan, really,
Like a proper flippant man of verse.

What"s the matter? What has happened, really?
Every day I have some other chick.
And I lose self-pity, willy-nilly,
And defy unfaithfulness and trick.

I have always kept my heart from simple,
Tender feelings, and I wonder what
I am looking for in oh, so cripple
Women, so light-headed, and so void.

Hold me back, restrain me, scornful feeling,
I have always been marked up by you.
In my heart I have a chilly steaming
And the rustle of lilac of blue.

In my heart I have a lemon sunset,
Through the fog I hear someone say:
For your freedom you will have to answer,
Well, Don Juan, take the challenge, eh?

As I take the challenge within reason,
I can see the same old thing I have:
I must take a storm for blooming season
And mistake a thrill for real love.

That"s the reason That"s the way it happened.
Every day I have some other chick,
So that I might always smile, be happy
And defy unfaithfulness and trick.

[Tyr-Ziu Saxnot]

I haven"t forgotten you, dearie,
The shine of your hair and all.
It wasn"t so easy and cheery
To leave you, as I recall.

I haven"t forgotten the autumn,
The rustle of birches, the night;
And though the days were shorter
The moonlight was long and bright.

You whispered these words in my ear:
"The years and the dreams will be gone,
You"ll go with another, my dear,
And leave me all on my own".

That lime standing there, in flower,
Reminds my emotion anew
The way I would tenderly shower
Those beautiful flowers on you.

My heart will be warm, sad and sorry,
In love, remembering well
You, friend, as a fanciful story
Of love with another girl.
.................................................. .

Scarlet light of sunset shows up on the lake.
Grouses are crying in the wood, awake.

Hidden in hollow, cries an oriole.
I don"t feel like crying, brightness in my soul.

You"ll come out to meet me later in the day,
We"ll sit down there under stack of hay.

I will kiss and squeeze you, like an ardent boy!
One can"t blame a man for being drunk with joy.

You will chuck your kerchief as I hold you tight,
I will keep you, tipsy, in the bush all night.

Let the birds keep crying as we neck and bask.
There"s a happy yearning in the purple dusk.

.................................................. .......................

I do believe in happiness!
The sun has not yet faded. Rays
Of sunrise like a book of prayers
Predict the happy news. Oh yes!
I do believe in happiness!

Ring , golden Russia, carry on,
Oh blow you wind, so unabated!
Blessed is the one who celebrated
Your shepherd"s sadness, hope forlorn.
Ring, golden Russia, carry on!

I love the wild impetuous streams,
The shine of stars upon the water.
The blessed dejection, crying quarter,
The blessing people and extremes
Of roaring wild impetuous streams.

.................................................. ...

Maybe, it's too late or, maybe, early,
It has not occurred to me for years,
I resemble now Don Juan, really,
Like a proper flippant man of verse.

What"s the matter? What has happened, really?
Every day I have some other chick.
And I lose self-pity, willy-nilly,
And defy unfaithfulness and trick.

I have always kept my heart from simple,
Tender feelings, and I wonder what
I am looking for in oh, so cripple
Women, so light-headed, and so void.

Hold me back, restrain me, scornful feeling,
I have always been marked up by you.
In my heart I have a chilly steaming
And the rustle of lilac of blue.

In my heart I have a lemon sunset,
Through the fog I hear someone say:
For your freedom you will have to answer,
Well, Don Juan, take the challenge, eh?

As I take the challenge within reason,
I can see the same old thing I have:
I must take a storm for blooming season
And mistake a thrill for real love.

That"s the reason That"s the way it happened.
Every day I have some other chick,
So that I might always smile, be happy
And defy unfaithfulness and trick.

Truly awesome poetry!! I remember that name, wasn't he the Russian poet that wrote his farewell poem in his own blood because he had no ink in which to write?
Seems to me I read something about him many, many decades ago. He killed himself at an early age,if memory serves me well.
Does he have many more poems that are translated into English?
If so, I can research him and his poems to present some of them here.
Would be my honor since your sample clearly showed a great poetic talent at work!
Thanks....--Tyr

[Tyr-Ziu Saxnot]

I haven"t forgotten you, dearie,
The shine of your hair and all.
It wasn"t so easy and cheery
To leave you, as I recall.

I haven"t forgotten the autumn,
The rustle of birches, the night;
And though the days were shorter
The moonlight was long and bright.

You whispered these words in my ear:
"The years and the dreams will be gone,
You"ll go with another, my dear,
And leave me all on my own".

That lime standing there, in flower,
Reminds my emotion anew
The way I would tenderly shower
Those beautiful flowers on you.

My heart will be warm, sad and sorry,
In love, remembering well
You, friend, as a fanciful story
Of love with another girl.
.................................................. .

Scarlet light of sunset shows up on the lake.
Grouses are crying in the wood, awake.

Hidden in hollow, cries an oriole.
I don"t feel like crying, brightness in my soul.

You"ll come out to meet me later in the day,
We"ll sit down there under stack of hay.

I will kiss and squeeze you, like an ardent boy!
One can"t blame a man for being drunk with joy.

You will chuck your kerchief as I hold you tight,
I will keep you, tipsy, in the bush all night.

Let the birds keep crying as we neck and bask.
There"s a happy yearning in the purple dusk.

.................................................. .......................

I do believe in happiness!
The sun has not yet faded. Rays
Of sunrise like a book of prayers
Predict the happy news. Oh yes!
I do believe in happiness!

Ring , golden Russia, carry on,
Oh blow you wind, so unabated!
Blessed is the one who celebrated
Your shepherd"s sadness, hope forlorn.
Ring, golden Russia, carry on!

I love the wild impetuous streams,
The shine of stars upon the water.
The blessed dejection, crying quarter,
The blessing people and extremes
Of roaring wild impetuous streams.

.................................................. ...

Maybe, it's too late or, maybe, early,
It has not occurred to me for years,
I resemble now Don Juan, really,
Like a proper flippant man of verse.

What"s the matter? What has happened, really?
Every day I have some other chick.
And I lose self-pity, willy-nilly,
And defy unfaithfulness and trick.

I have always kept my heart from simple,
Tender feelings, and I wonder what
I am looking for in oh, so cripple
Women, so light-headed, and so void.

Hold me back, restrain me, scornful feeling,
I have always been marked up by you.
In my heart I have a chilly steaming
And the rustle of lilac of blue.

In my heart I have a lemon sunset,
Through the fog I hear someone say:
For your freedom you will have to answer,
Well, Don Juan, take the challenge, eh?

As I take the challenge within reason,
I can see the same old thing I have:
I must take a storm for blooming season
And mistake a thrill for real love.

That"s the reason That"s the way it happened.
Every day I have some other chick,
So that I might always smile, be happy
And defy unfaithfulness and trick.
Truly awesome poetry!! I remember that name, wasn't he the Russian poet that wrote his farewell poem in his own blood because he had no ink in which to write?
Seems to me I read something about him many, many decades ago. He killed himself at an early age,if memory serves me well.
Does he have many more poems that are translated into English?
If so, I can research him and his poems to present some of them here.
Would be my honor since your sample clearly showed a great poetic talent at work!
Thanks....--Tyr

[Balu]

I"m tired of living in my land
With boring fields and buckwheat fragrant,
I"ll leave my home for ever, and
Begin the life of thief and vagrant.

I"ll walk through silver curls of life
In search of miserable dwelling.
My dearest friend will whet his knife
On me. The reason? There"s no telling.

The winding yellow road will go
Across the sunlit field of flowers,
The girl whose name I cherish so
Will turn me out of her house.

I will return back home to live
and see the others feeling happy,
I"ll hang myself upon my sleeve,
On a green evening it will happen.


The silky willows by the fence
Will bend their tops low down, gently,
To dogs" barking, by my friends,
Unwashed, I will be buried plainly.

The moon will float up in the sky
Dropping the oars into the water...
As ever, Russia will get by
And dance and weep in every quarter.

.................................................. ..........

I will not deceive myself, admitting
I have worries in my heart, so dreary.
Why am I reputed as a cheating
Crook and trouble-maker, really?

I am not a villain nor a thief in hiding,
And I never shot imprisoned convicts.
I am just a thoughtless idler, smiling
Friendly and avoiding conflicts.

I am a naughty reckless Moscow loner.
All along the main street, and around,
Every little dog in every corner
Knows me by the way I tread the ground.

Every jade I meet, rundown and hopeless,
Gives me nods of hail and salutation.
I am a friend of animals, my verses
Are as good for them as medication.

I don"t wear my hat to charm the ladies
For I can"t stand featherbrained emotions.
It"s convenient to use my hats as ladles
Filling them with oats to feed the horses.

I do not have friends among the people,
It"s a different kingdom I am bound to.
I will gladly give my tie to simple
Shaggy dog I happen to encounter.

From now on I will be safe and sound.
In my heart a sunny day is breaking.
That"s the reason why they tend to count
Me to be a crook and trouble-maker.

.................................................

A LETTER TO MOTHER

Are you still alive, my dear granny?
I am alive as well. Hello! Hello!
May there always be above you, honey,
The amazing stream of evening glow.

I"ve been told that hiding your disquiet,
Worrying about me a lot,
You go out to the roadside every night,
Wearing your shabby overcoat.

In the evening darkness, very often,
You conceive the same old scene of blood:
Kind of in a tavern fight some ruffian
Plunged a Finnish knife into my heart.

Now calm down, mom! And don"t be dreary!
It"s a painful fiction through and through.
I"m not so bad a drunkard, really,
As to die without seeing you.

I"m your tender son as ever, dear,
And the only thing I dream of now
Is to leave this dismal boredom here
And return to our little house. And how!

I"ll return in spring without warning
When the garden blossoms, white as snow.
Please don"t wake me early in the morning,
As you did before, eight years ago.

Don"t disturb my dreams that now have flown,
Don"t perturb my vain and futile strife
For it's much too early that I've known
Heavy loss and weariness in life.

Please don"t teach me how to say my prayers!
There is no way back to what is gone.
You"re my only joy, support and praise
And my only flare shining on.

Please forget about your pain and fear,
and don"t worry over me a lot
Don"t go out to the roadside, dear,
Wearing your shabby overcoat.

[Balu]

It"s sad to look at you, my love,
And it"s so painful to remember!
It seems, the only thing we have
Is tint of willow in September.

Somebody"s lips have outworn
Your warmth and body trepidation,
As if the rain was drizzling down
The soul, that stiffened in congestion.

Well, let it be! I do not dread.
I have some other joyous gala.
There"s nothing left for me except
For brown dust and grizzly colour.

I"ve been unable, to my rue,
To save myself, for smiles or any.
The roads that have been walked are few
Mistakes that have been made are many.

With funny life and funny split
So it has been and will be ever.
The grove with birch-tree bones in it
Is like a graveyard, well I never!

Likewise, we"ll go to our doom
And fade, like callers of the garden.
In winter flowers never bloom,
And so we shouldn"t grieve about them.

.......................................

The golden birch-tree grove has fallen silent
Its merry chatter having stopped afore,
The cranes up there flying over, sullen,
Have nobody to pity any more.

Whom should they pity? Each is just a trotter.
One comes and goes and leaves for good again.
The moon and hempen bush above the water
Remember all those perished, filled with pain.

I"m standing on the plain all on my own,
The cranes, the wind is taking them away,
I think about my boyhood which has flown,
And I do not regret my bygones anyway.

I don"t regret the days that I discarded,
I don"t feel sorry for the lilac of my soul.
The purple rowan burning in the garden
Can"t warm and comfort anyone at all.

The rowan will maintain its coloration.
The grass exposed to heat will not decease,
I drop my words of sorrow and vexation
The way a tree drops quietly its leaves.

And if some day the wind of time intended
To rake them all up in a useless roll...
You ought to say: the golden grove has ended
Its lovely chatter in the prime of fall.
.................................................. .................

[Balu]

Truly awesome poetry!! I remember that name, wasn't he the Russian poet that wrote his farewell poem in his own blood because he had no ink in which to write?
Seems to me I read something about him many, many decades ago. He killed himself at an early age,if memory serves me well.
Does he have many more poems that are translated into English?
If so, I can research him and his poems to present some of them here.
Would be my honor since your sample clearly showed a great poetic talent at work!
Thanks....--Tyr
He is one of my MOST bellowed poets. I tried to find the translations the most close to the feelings expressed. But... as in ANY translation a part of ORIGINAL flavor is lost. http://www.kolobok.us/smiles/standart/dntknw.gif

[Balu]

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Oi1ayhNW2hU


A LETTER TO MOTHER

Are you still alive, my dear granny?
I am alive as well. Hello! Hello!
May there always be above you, honey,
The amazing stream of evening glow.

I"ve been told that hiding your disquiet,
Worrying about me a lot,
You go out to the roadside every night,
Wearing your shabby overcoat.

In the evening darkness, very often,
You conceive the same old scene of blood:
Kind of in a tavern fight some ruffian
Plunged a Finnish knife into my heart.

Now calm down, mom! And don"t be dreary!
It"s a painful fiction through and through.
I"m not so bad a drunkard, really,
As to die without seeing you.

I"m your tender son as ever, dear,
And the only thing I dream of now
Is to leave this dismal boredom here
And return to our little house. And how!

I"ll return in spring without warning
When the garden blossoms, white as snow.
Please don"t wake me early in the morning,
As you did before, eight years ago.

Don"t disturb my dreams that now have flown,
Don"t perturb my vain and futile strife
For it's much too early that I've known
Heavy loss and weariness in life.

Please don"t teach me how to say my prayers!
There is no way back to what is gone.
You"re my only joy, support and praise
And my only flare shining on.

Please forget about your pain and fear,
and don"t worry over me a lot
Don"t go out to the roadside, dear,
Wearing your shabby overcoat.

[Tyr-Ziu Saxnot]

No flaming allowed here guys... Cage exists for that ...Jim was thoughtful enough to set the sparring ring up down there.
Thanks...--Tyr

[Gunny]

No flaming allowed here guys... Cage exists for that ...Jim was thoughtful enough to set the sparring ring up down there.
Thanks...--Tyr

Somebody died and left YOU in charge? Jeez I need to go find my gun and shoot myself. :laugh:

So the gay-ass poetry thread is off limits? :laugh:

[Tyr-Ziu Saxnot]

Somebody died and left YOU in charge? Jeez I need to go find my gun and shoot myself. :laugh:

So the gay-ass poetry thread is off limits? :laugh:


Jeez I need to go find my gun and shoot myself. :laugh:
^^^ Felt that way myself more than a few times....

Off limits to flames my friend. Otherwise feel free to post to your heart's content.
I know, me a mod(however only this sub-forum), who would have ever thunk it. :confused:-Tyr

[Tyr-Ziu Saxnot]

The Night



The tired day droops, slowly waning ,

The noisy waves are now tranquil.

The sun has set, the moon is sailing

Above the world, absorbed and still.



The valley listens to the babbles

Of peaceful river in the dale.

The forest, dark and bending, slumbers

To warbling of the nightingale.



The river, listening in and fondling,

Talks with the banks in quiet hush.

And up above resounds,а a-rolling,

The merry rustle of the rush.



1910 -1912
----------------------------------------------------

WHAT IS GONE CANNOT BE RETRIEVED



Lovelyа night I will never retrieve it,

And I won't see my sweet precious love.

And the nightingale's song, I won't hear it,

Happy song that it sang in the grove!



That sweet night is now gone irrevocably

You can't tell it: please come back and wait.

Autumn weather has nowа set in locally,

With perpetual rains, damp and wet.



Fastа asleep in the grave is my sweetheart

Keeping love, as before, in her heart.

And however it tries, autumn blizzard

Cannot wake her from sleep, flesh and blood.



So the nightingale's singing has ended,

As the song-bird has taken to flight,

And I can't hear the song now, so splendid,

Which it sang on that sweet chilly night.



Gone and lost are the joyous emotions

That I felt in those days and conceived.

All I have now is chill in my conscience.

What is gone can't be ever retrieved.



1911-1912
---------------------------------------------------------

The Stars



Stars little stars, you're so high and so clear!

What have you got in you, so fascinating?

Stars, deep in thought, so discreet you appear,

What is the power that makes you so tempting?



Stars, little stars, youТre so dense and so solid!

What is it that makes you so great and alluring?

How can you,а heavenlyа bodies, afford it:

Stirring a thirst and desire for learning?



Why, as you shine, are youа nice and inviting

Into your wide open arms, on the instant?

Pleasing the heart, so benign and enticing,

Heavenly stars, so remote and so distant!

1911-1912

ALL Sergey Yesenin poems!!!! And each is a gem ....Tyr