The Island

вот, неожиданно вчера старый и любимый стишок перевел

by Shashi

The Island

by Yury Kabankov

The east to the left. The east to the right.

The rains missed each other o’er southern Korea,

The yards could have colors on them, true and real,

But Vladivostok is still sleeping there tight.

For almost a century waters splashed, gay.

We’ll spread the horizon with caution and care —

The island pernicious, still sitting there

On its bed of clay, always looking our way.

Its schooners are light as their booms and their sails,

Its plum trees are pouring their kisses aglow…

All buttoned up tight with scratched golden floats,

The leaden Tsushima’s worn-out lapel.

1980