Vladimir Nabokov - An Evening of Russian Poetry | Текст песни

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• Vladimir Nabokov
• An Evening of Russian Poetry

The subject chosen for tonight's discussion
Is everywhere, though often incomplete:
when their basaltic bank become too steep,
most rivers use a kind of rapid Russian,
and so do children talking in their sleep.
My little helper at the magic lantern,
insert that slide and let the colored beam
project my name or any such-like phantom
in Slavic characters upon the screen.
The other way, the other way. I thank you.

(…)

Had I more time tonight I would unfold
the whole amazing story — неуклюже,
невыносимо — but I have to go.

What did I say under my breath? I spoke
to a blind songbird hidden in a hat,
safe from my thumbs and from the eggs I broke
into the gibus brimming with their yolk.

(…)

The conjurer collects his poor belongings —
the colored handkerchief, the magic rope,
the double-bottomed rhymes, the cage, the song.
You tell him of the passes you detect.
The mystery remains intact. The check
comes forward in the smiling envelope.

«How would you say ‘delightful talk’ in Russian?»
«How would you say ‘good night?’»

Oh, that would be:
Бессоница, твой взор уныл и страшен;
любовь моя, отступника прости.
(Insomnia, your stare is dull and ashen,
my love, forgive me this apostasy.)

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