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Five satires
Translations © by Leonard Lehrman
Song Cycle by Dmitri Dmitriyevich Shostakovich (1906 - 1975)
View original-language texts alone: Пять сатир = Pjat' satir
Когда поэт, описивая даму, начнёт: ,,Я шла по улице. В боко впился корсет`` Здесь я не понимал конечно прямо что, мол, под дамою скривается поэт. Я истину тебе по-друшески открою: поэт мужчина и даже с бородою.
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Note on TransliterationsAuthorship:
- by Aleksandr Mikhailovich Glikberg (1880 - 1932), as Sasha Chyorny
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Available translations, adaptations or excerpts, and transliterations (if applicable):
- ENG English [singable] (Leonard Lehrman) , "To a critic", copyright © 2017, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
- FRE French (Français) (Guy Laffaille) , "À un critique", copyright © 2015, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
- LIT Lithuanian (Lietuvių kalba) (Giedrius Prunskus) , "Kritikui", copyright © 2022, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
A poet was describing a lady. I cite: I thought my corset as I walked did not feel right." The "I" should not of course be taken literally, nor does the lady hide the poet from the light. The poet is in fact, if truth you would be steer'd to, a man – and further, he even has a beard too!
Authorship:
- Singable translation from Russian (Русский) to English copyright © 2017 by Leonard Lehrman, (re)printed on this website with kind permission. To reprint and distribute this author's work for concert programs, CD booklets, etc., please ask the copyright-holder(s) directly.
Leonard Lehrman.  Contact: ljlehrman (AT) nassaulibrary (DOT) org
If the copyright-holder(s) are unreachable for three business days, please write to: licenses@email.lieder.example.net
Based on:
- a text in Russian (Русский) by Aleksandr Mikhailovich Glikberg (1880 - 1932), as Sasha Chyorny
Go to the single-text view
This text was added to the website: 2017-10-15
Line count: 6
Word count: 61
Вчера мой кот взглянул на календарь И хвост трубою поднял моментально, Потом подрал [на лестницу]1, как встарь, И завопил тепло и вакханально: «Весенний брак! Гражданский брак! Спешите, кошки, на чердак...» И кактус мой — о, чудо из чудес! — Залитый чаем и кофейной гущей, Как новый Лазарь, взял да и воскрес И с каждым днем прет из земли всё пуще. Зеленый шум... Я поражен: «Как много дум наводит он!» Уже с панелей смерзшуюся грязь, Ругаясь, скалывают дворники лихие, Уже ко мне забрел сегодня «князь», Взял теплый шарф и лыжи беговые... «Весна, весна! — пою, как бард,— Несите зимний хлам в ломбард». Сияет солнышко. Ей-богу, ничего! Весенняя лазурь спугнула дым и копоть, Мороз уже не щиплет никого, Но многим нечего, как и зимою, лопать... Деревья ждут... Гниет вода, И пьяных больше, чем всегда. Создатель мой! Спасибо за весну! — Я думал, что она не возвратится,— Но... дай сбежать в лесную тишину От злобы дня, холеры и столицы! Весенний ветер за дверьми... В кого б влюбиться, черт возьми!
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Note on TransliterationsAuthorship:
- by Aleksandr Mikhailovich Glikberg (1880 - 1932), as Sasha Chyorny, "Пробуждение весны"
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Available translations, adaptations or excerpts, and transliterations (if applicable):
- ENG English [singable] (Leonard Lehrman) , "The awakening of spring", copyright © 2017, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
- FRE French (Français) (Guy Laffaille) , "Le réveil du printemps", copyright © 2015, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
- LIT Lithuanian (Lietuvių kalba) (Giedrius Prunskus) , "Pavasario prabudimas", copyright © 2023, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
1 Shostakovich: "по лестнице"
Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]
My tomcat's looking at my calendar and all of a sudden he starts meowing "Golly!" His tail just stands straight up, and all his fur; he jumps upstairs and wails out bacchanally: "The mating season's here you know! Hey girls, hey cats, come on, let's go!" And then my cactus, what a wonder this! – though tea and coffee stain its prickly torso, it's risen from the dead, like Lazarus, and ev'ry day is growing ever more so. The forest's sounds have me in thrall. How many mem'ries they recall! The workmen hack the dirt to pieces since It still is frozen, though it's falling from the molding, And now my neighbor struts in like a prince. He takes the skis and all the winter clothing. "It's spring," he sings with voice so clear, "Let's get this garbage out of here!" The spring has scared off all the smoke and all the soot. Now ev'rything seems right – the dear old sun is shining. The frost no longer bites you head to foot, though there are people still who don't have much for dining... The trees await... the water rots. The world is full of drunken sots. I thank you god for letting spring come back! But let me go seek the forest's quiet Away from all the noise and yack-yack-yack, the capital, and cholera and riot! The wind of spring now gently blows... Whom shall I love? The devil knows!
Authorship:
- Singable translation from Russian (Русский) to English copyright © 2017 by Leonard Lehrman, (re)printed on this website with kind permission. To reprint and distribute this author's work for concert programs, CD booklets, etc., please ask the copyright-holder(s) directly.
Leonard Lehrman.  Contact: ljlehrman (AT) nassaulibrary (DOT) org
If the copyright-holder(s) are unreachable for three business days, please write to: licenses@email.lieder.example.net
Based on:
- a text in Russian (Русский) by Aleksandr Mikhailovich Glikberg (1880 - 1932), as Sasha Chyorny, "Пробуждение весны"
Go to the single-text view
This text was added to the website: 2017-10-15
Line count: 30
Word count: 241
Наши предки лезли в клети И [шептались]1 там не раз: "Туго, братцы...видно, дети Будут жить вольготней нас". Дети выросли. И эти Лезли в клети в грозный час И [вздыхали]2: "Наши дети Встретят солнце после нас". Нынче так же, как вовеки, Утешение одно: Наши дети будут в Мекке, Если нам не суждено. Даже сроки предсказали: Кто - лет двести, кто - пятьсот, А пока лежи в печали И мычи, как идиот. Разукрашенные дули, Мир умыт, причёсан, мил... Лет чрез двести? Чёрта в стуле! Разве я Мафусаил? Я, как филин, на обломках Переломанных богов. В неродившихся потомках Нет мне братьев и врагов. Я хочу немножко света Для себя, пока я жив, От портного до поэта - Всем понятен мой призыв... А потомки... Пусть потомки, Исполняя жребий свой И кляня свои потёмки, Лупят в стенку головой!
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Note on TransliterationsAuthorship:
- by Aleksandr Mikhailovich Glikberg (1880 - 1932), as Sasha Chyorny, "Потомки"
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Available translations, adaptations or excerpts, and transliterations (if applicable):
- ENG English [singable] (Leonard Lehrman) , "Descendants", copyright © 2017, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
- FRE French (Français) (Guy Laffaille) , "Les descendants", copyright © 2017, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
- LIT Lithuanian (Lietuvių kalba) (Giedrius Prunskus) , "Palikuonys", copyright © 2022, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
1 Shostakovich: "вздыхали" (vzdykhali)
2 Shostakovich: "шептали" (sheptali)
Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]
Our predecessors, rattling in their cages, often said: "Truly, brothers, our children will be freer when we're dead." And their children grew, and lived in cages still more terrible. And they whispered: "To our children, sunlight will be visible." Now for our children there's one consolation that must do: They will surely get to Mecca, though we shall not get there too. Length of days now seems predestined: Two hundred, five hundred years, Who will bellow like a fool, and who will melt away in tears. Everything will soon be combed and cleaned. The time is not too far. Maybe just two hundred years? Like hell! Am I Methuselah? Like an owl, I stand among the idols broken long ago. In descendants not yet born I have no brother, friend or foe. I would like a little light just for myself, while I'm still here. From the tailor to the poet – let them hear me, loud and clear. Ah, descendants! Let them come and meet the fate that comes to all. Let them learn to curse the dark, and beat their heads against a wall!
Authorship:
- Singable translation from Russian (Русский) to English copyright © 2017 by Leonard Lehrman, (re)printed on this website with kind permission. To reprint and distribute this author's work for concert programs, CD booklets, etc., please ask the copyright-holder(s) directly.
Leonard Lehrman.  Contact: ljlehrman (AT) nassaulibrary (DOT) org
If the copyright-holder(s) are unreachable for three business days, please write to: licenses@email.lieder.example.net
Based on:
- a text in Russian (Русский) by Aleksandr Mikhailovich Glikberg (1880 - 1932), as Sasha Chyorny, "Потомки"
Go to the single-text view
This text was added to the website: 2017-10-15
Line count: 32
Word count: 186
Она была поэтесса, поэтесса Бальзаковских лет. А он был просто повеса, курчавый и пылкий брюнет. Повеса пришёл к поэтесе; в полумраке дышали духи, на софе, как в торжественой мессе, поэтесса гнусила стихи: ,,О, сумей огнедышащей лаской, всколыхнуть мою сонную страсть, к пене бедер за алой подвыазкой ты не бойся устами припасть. Я свежа, как дыханье левкоя... о сплетем ж истомноститель!`` Продолжене было такое, что чурчави брюнет покраснел. Покраснел, но оправился быстро и подумал: была не была! Здесь не думские речи министра, не слова здесь нужны, а дела. С несдержанною силой Кентавра Поэтесу повеса привлёк, но визгливо вулгарное: ,,Мавра, Мавра, Мавра, Мавра!`` Охладило кипучий поток. ,,Простите!`` вскочил он. ,,Вы сами...`` Но в глазах её холод и честь. ,,Вы смели к порядочной даме, как дворник, с объятьями лезть! Вот чинная Мавра!`` И задом уходит испуганный гость, в передней растерянным взглядом он долго искал свою трость. С лицом белее магнезии шёл с лестницы пылкий брюнет. Не понял он новой поэзии и поэтесси Бальзаковских лет.
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Note on TransliterationsAuthorship:
- by Aleksandr Mikhailovich Glikberg (1880 - 1932), as Sasha Chyorny
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Available translations, adaptations or excerpts, and transliterations (if applicable):
- ENG English [singable] (Leonard Lehrman) , "A misunderstanding", copyright © 2017, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
- FRE French (Français) (Guy Laffaille) , "Malentendu", copyright © 2015, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
- LIT Lithuanian (Lietuvių kalba) (Giedrius Prunskus) , "Nesusipratimas", copyright © 2022, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
She was a famous writer, And a poet of a certain age, While he was only a playboy With hair that was all the rage. Inhaling the perfume of twilight, The rake to the poetess goes. Like the solemnest mass, on the sofa, She sits, and declaims through her nose: "Let your fi'ry caresses embrace me And awaken my passions from sleep. Do not hold back your lips, but come kiss me. Loose my thighs from their garter so deep! I am fresh as a breath of white lilies. Let us criscross our bodies in bed!" In this manner her verses continue 'Til the playboy is blushing bright red. Yes, he blushes, but quickly recovers, And reflects: "Now or never, it seems. It's not time for officialese discourse But for action – fulfillment of dreams!" With unrestrain'd pow'r like a centaur's To the poet the playboy's unspool'd, But a shrill cry for help screeches: "Mavra! Mavra! Mavra! Mavra!" And the rake's boiling ardor is cool'd. "I'm sorry!" He jumps up. "But I thought..." In her eyes there is nothing but cold. "Sir, I'm a respectable lady. You boor! How could you be so bold!?" And now here comes Mavra. The guest is So scared, he won't be back again. Confused, he retreats to the lobby, A long while he looks for his cane. His face now white as magnesium, Descending the stairs in a rage, He just doesn't understand poetry, Or at least not of a certain age. He does not, he cannot, understand....
Authorship:
- Singable translation from Russian (Русский) to English copyright © 2017 by Leonard Lehrman, (re)printed on this website with kind permission. To reprint and distribute this author's work for concert programs, CD booklets, etc., please ask the copyright-holder(s) directly.
Leonard Lehrman.  Contact: ljlehrman (AT) nassaulibrary (DOT) org
If the copyright-holder(s) are unreachable for three business days, please write to: licenses@email.lieder.example.net
Based on:
- a text in Russian (Русский) by Aleksandr Mikhailovich Glikberg (1880 - 1932), as Sasha Chyorny
Go to the single-text view
This text was added to the website: 2017-10-15
Line count: 37
Word count: 254
Квартирант сидит на чемодане и задумчиво расматривает пол: те же стулья, и кровать, и стол, а такая же обивка на диване, и такой же бигос на обед, но на всём какой-то новый свет... блещут икры полной прачки Фёклы. Перегнулся сильный стан во двор. Как нестройный, шаловливый хор, верещат намыленные стёкла, и заплаты голубых небес обещают тысячи чудес. Квартирант, квартирант... квартирант сидит на чемодане. Стёкла вымыты, опять тоска и тишь. Фёкла, Фёкла, что же ты молчишь? Будь хоть ты решительной и яркой; подойди, возми его за чуб и ожги огнём весенних губ... Ух! Квартирант и Фёкла на диване. О, какой торжествени момент! ,,Ты народ, а я интеллигент,`` говорит он ей среди лобзанья, ,,Наконец то здесь, сейчас вдвоём, я тебя, а ты меня поймём...``
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Note on TransliterationsAuthorship:
- by Aleksandr Mikhailovich Glikberg (1880 - 1932), as Sasha Chyorny
Go to the single-text view
Available translations, adaptations or excerpts, and transliterations (if applicable):
- ENG English [singable] (Leonard Lehrman) , "Kreutzer Sonata", copyright © 2017, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
- FRE French (Français) (Guy Laffaille) , "La sonate à Kreutzer", copyright © 2015, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
- LIT Lithuanian (Lietuvių kalba) (Giedrius Prunskus) , "Kreicerio sonata", copyright © 2023, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
There's a lodger seated on a suitcase And he's thoughtfully examining the floor: The same chairs, a table and a bed. The upholstery's the same upon the sofa And the borscht for lunch is just as red. But now there's new light one can't ignore... Ah! The full calves of Fyokla – she's the laundress – Shine as she leans over in the yard. And the glasses squeal, they're scrubbed so hard, Singing out of tune just like a chorus. Patches of blue sky that's over us Fill with promises miraculous. Lodger! Lodger! The same lodger's sitting on his suitcase. Glasses washed, and once again now all is still. Fyokla, Fyokla, why are you so quiet? At the least, be strong and be resilient. Come and take him. Grab him by the forelock And then burn him with your lips. Come, try it! Ah! Fyokla and the lodger on the sofa. O, how solemn is this moment. How! "I'm intelligentsia; you're a peasant." That's his words, 'mid kisses rather pleasant. "But we understand each other well, For we are together here and now! Yes, we understand each other For we are together here and now!"
Authorship:
- Singable translation from Russian (Русский) to English copyright © 2017 by Leonard Lehrman, (re)printed on this website with kind permission. To reprint and distribute this author's work for concert programs, CD booklets, etc., please ask the copyright-holder(s) directly.
Leonard Lehrman.  Contact: ljlehrman (AT) nassaulibrary (DOT) org
If the copyright-holder(s) are unreachable for three business days, please write to: licenses@email.lieder.example.net
Based on:
- a text in Russian (Русский) by Aleksandr Mikhailovich Glikberg (1880 - 1932), as Sasha Chyorny
Go to the single-text view
This text was added to the website: 2017-10-15
Line count: 27
Word count: 195