(From the website: http://www.pushkins-poems.com/)
In the hope of making Pushkin available to more readers,
especially those who have only a slight knowledge of Russian, or none at all,
this web site is dedicated to providing a translation of some of his poems. The
Russian text is set alongside the translation, to provide easy comparisons for
those who wish to make their own efforts. There is very little of Pushkin
available on the Internet in English, and this site was, at the time of writing
(2001), the only one that provided an English version of Yevgeny (Eugene)
Onegin. All of Yevgeny Onegin and a few other poems are currently available, both in Russian and English. The Gypsies has been recently added (Sept 2009). Below is one of Pushkin's well known poems. The Russian text is presented as a photographic image, to obviate the possible difficulty of downloading Russian script. | |
From April 2010 some early Chekhov short stories have been added. Check the link above to see what is available. |
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By A. Pushkin If I walk the noisy streets, Or enter a many thronged church, Or sit among the wild young generation, I give way to my thoughts. I say to myself: the years are fleeting, And however many there seem to be, We must all go under the eternal vault, And someone's hour is already at hand. When I look at a solitary oak I think: the patriarch of the woods. It will outlive my forgotten age As it outlived that of my grandfathers'. If I caress a young child, Immediately I think: farewell! I will yield my place to you, For I must fade while your flower blooms. | |
Each day, every hour I habitually follow in my thoughts, Trying to guess from their number The year which brings my death. And where will fate send death to me? In battle, in my travels, or on the seas? Or will the neighbouring valley Receive my chilled ashes? And although to the senseless body It is indifferent wherever it rots, Yet close to my beloved countryside I still would prefer to rest. And let it be, beside the grave's vault That young life forever will be playing, And impartial, indifferent nature Eternally be shining in beauty. | ||
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Views of St. Petersburg in the 19th Century |
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