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'Along this street of mine' ("По улице моей", from the opening words) is one of the beloved poems by one of beloved Russian poets, Bella Akhmadulina. By chance I noticed an annoying omission in the English translation of the poem which sent me on a quest to restore the missing piece - and also to see how it changes the meaning of Akhmadulina's poem.
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For how many years along this street of mine have I overheard those footsteps - of my friends leaving. And the darkness outside my window draws pleasure in witnessing every sluggish departure. [ missing quatrain 1] [ missing quatrain 2] That is your stern character, Solitude, as you flash an iron compass; how coldly now do you close your circles round me without attending to my useless protest. [quatrain not in the song version] Summon me, then, with some reward, since I have become your creature, and console myself with your favours; let me rest against you and wash myself in the pale blue of your frost. In your forest, on my toes, allow me to reach the slow peak of one strained gesture in your foliage, and raise the leaves to my face so I may feel - to be desolate is a blessing. Give me the quiet of your libraries, severe melodies in concert halls; wise power - that is the way we forget those who are dead and those not yet alive. So I shall learn wisdom and sadness together, and things will yield their hidden meanings up; even Nature leaning on my shoulder may reveal her childish secrets to me. But out of all the darkness, tears, and the forgetting of what is lost for ever, the fine features of my friends will appear briefly to me, before dissolving. From 'Post-War Russian Poetry', compiled by Daniel Weissbort, translated by Elaine Feinstein |
Without the two missing stanzas in translated version and the three left out in the song version the poem reads as a lament of someone who lost the pure warmth of young friendships. Just that, no more wasteful outings, chats about nothing, musical get-togethers or sing-alongs to scratchy records. It is all gone and is replaced by an adult focused, purposeful and cold life where old friends have no place. |
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For how many years along this street of mine have I overheard those footsteps - of my friends leaving. And the darkness outside my window draws pleasure in witnessing every sluggish departure. My friends do not look after their affairs, nor music, neither songs are present in their homes, there's just a flock of usual Degas' girls with light-blue feathers, checking hues. What can I do, what can I do, don't let your fears wake up you, helpless, in the night. That passion for betrayal, so mysterious, my friends, it's clouding your sight. That is your stern character, Solitude, as you flash an iron compass; how coldly now do you close your circles round me without attending to my useless protest. Summon me, then, with some reward, since I have become your creature, and console myself with your favours; let me rest against you and wash myself in the pale blue of your frost. In your forest, on my toes, allow me to reach the slow peak of one strained gesture in your foliage, and raise the leaves to my face so I may feel - to be desolate is a blessing. Give me the quiet of your libraries, severe melodies in concert halls; wise power - that is the way we forget those who are dead and those not yet alive. So I shall learn wisdom and sadness together, and things will yield their hidden meanings up; even Nature leaning on my shoulder may reveal her childish secrets to me. But out of all the darkness, tears, and the forgetting of what is lost for ever, the fine features of my friends will appear briefly to me, before dissolving. Translated by Elaine Feinstein with the missing quatrains translated by Alexander Anichkin |
With the two quatrains restored, the poem undergoes a complete turnaround. Now it's not my fault, but theirs. I hold my course. I stay faithful to myself. It's my friends, fearful and helpless, who waver - and betray me. It's them who have that 'mysterious passion for betrayal' - and leave me in the company of Loneliness. |
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Ну, вот и всё, да не разбудит власть Вас, беззащитных, среди мрачной ночи; К предательству таинственная страсть, Друзья мои, туманит ваши очи. Well, this is it, may you escape Authority And not be woken, helpless, in the night; The passion for betrayal, it's a mystery, My friends, it's clouding your sight. as quoted by Vassily Aksyonov in 'Mysterious Passion' translated by Alexander Anichkin |
Strakh (fear) and Strast' (passion) is an unexpectedly powerful rhyming pair, even though the words are not quite of the same phonetic pattern. |
© Copyright Alexander Anichkin |
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