Bella Akhmadulina

I’m clinging to the noble style,
I’m charmed by speech of our ancestors,
It can be sharper then we try,
And newer than our newest lectures.

To cry: “My kingdom for a horse!” – 
Oh, what a largesse and hot-temper!
Then condescend to me, the lost
Futility of final fervour.

I’ll wake up in the darkness ones,
After I’d lost, for good, my battle,
And my reminiscence will thrust
Into resolve, that madman settled.

But I don’t care of kingdoms’ costs!
A child, bred by the ages’ lessons,
I’ll take a horse and give a horse
Just for a moment with a person,

I am in love with. Let you flee,
My horse, so ardent and attractive,
I will untie your rein for free
And you will overtake your native

Herd, which in distance now rustles, – 
Midst prairies, empty, wide and reddish.
But I am bored by the bustles
Of many won or lost a skirmish.

I’m sorry for my horse and love!
And in the style of Middle Ages,
My lone steps are lead above
The left by only horseshoes traces.


Translated by Yevgeny Bonver, April, 2001