One Mirror Must Mirror Another by Georgy Ivanov

One mirror must mirror another;

each mirror mismirrors the other.

 

Not that evil cannot be defeated,

only that we cannot escape defeat;

 

I believe in the ash left behind by the fire;

not in the music that burned my life.

 

by Георгий Владимирович Иванов (Georgii Vladimirovich Ivanov)

a.k.a. Georgy Ivanov

(1950)

translated by Robert Chandler

It’s Good That Russia Has No Tsar by Georgy Ivanov

It’s good that Russia has no Tsar,

it’s good that Russia’s just a dream,

it’s good that God has disappeared,

 

that nothing’s real, except the stars

in icy skies, the yellow gleam

of dawn, the unrelenting years.

 

It’s good that people don’t exist,

that nothingness is all there is,

that life’s as dark and cold as this;

 

until we couldn’t be more dead,

nor ever were so dark before,

and no one now can bring us aid,

nor even needs to any more.

 

by Георгий Владимирович Иванов (Georgii Vladimirovich Ivanov)

(1930)

translated by Stephen Capus

Everything’s Changed, Nothing Has Changed by Georgy Ivanov

Everything’s changed, nothing has changed

in the strange chill, strange chill of dawn.

I’ve dreamed many dreams over the years

and now I awake – with the years all gone.

 

Here we go, here I stand in an autumn field

(changed, unchanged, I don’t understand) –

as if I’ve been given my freedom

and my last hope has been torn from my hand.

 

by Георгий Владимирович Иванов (Georgii Vladimirovich Ivanov)

a.k.a. Georgy Ivanov

(1944-5)

translated by Robert Chandler

‘The Stars Glow Blue. The Trees Are Swaying’ by Georgy Ivanov

The stars glow blue. The trees are swaying.

A routine evening. Routine winter, too.

All is forgiven. Nothing’s forgiven.

Music and gloom.

 

We are all heroes, we are all traitors;

all words are worthless, each and every one.

My dear contemporaries –

having fun?

 

by Георгий Владимирович Иванов (Georgii Vladimirovich Ivanov)

a.k.a. Georgy Ivanov

(1934)

translated by Maria Bloshteyn

After Plodding Year After Year by Georgy Ivanov

After plodding year after year

through towns in an alien land,

we have ground enough to despair –

and despair is where we must end.

 

For despair is our final refuge –

as if, in midwinter, we had come

from Vespers in a nearby church,

through Russian snow, to our home.

 

by Георгий Владимирович Иванов (Georgii Vladimirovich Ivanov)

(1958)

translated by Robert Chandler