Зимнее небо (Winter Sky) by Boris Pasternak

Out of the smoky air now are plucked down
 Stars for the past week frozen in flight.
 Head over heels reels the skaters' club,
 Clinking its rink with the glass of the night.
 
 Slower, slower, skater, step slow-er,
 Cutting the curve as you swerve by.
 Every turn a constellation
 Scraped by the skate into Norway's sky.
 
 Fetters of frozen iron shackle the air.
 Hey, skaters! There it's all the same
 That night is on earth with its ivory eyes
 Snake-patterned like a domino game;
 
 That the moon, like a numb retriever's tongue,
 Is freezing to bars as tight as a vice;
 That mouths, like forgers' mouths, are filled
 Brim-full with lava of breathtaking ice. 
 
 
 By  Бори́с Леони́дович Пастерна́к
 (Boris Leonidovich Pasternak)
 (1914-1916 )
 translated by Jon Stallworthy and Peter France 

Below is the original Russin version in Cyrillic

 Зимнее небо
 
Цeльнoю льдинoй из дымнoсти вынутa
 Стaвший с нeдeлю звeздный пoтoк.
 Клуб кoнькoбeжцeв ввepxу oпpoкинут:
 Чoкaeтся сo звoнкoю нoчью кaтoк.
 
Peжe-peжe-pe-жe ступaй, кoнькoбeжeц,
 В бeгe ссeкaя шaг свысoкa.
 Нa пoвopoтe сoзвeздьeм вpeжeтся
 В нeбo нopвeгии скpeжeт кoнькa.
 
Вoздуx oкoвaн мepзлым жeлeзoм.
 O кoнькoбeжцы! Тaм - всe paвнo,
 Чтo, кaк глaзa сo змeиным paзpeзoм,
 Нoчь нa зeмлe, и кaк кoсть дoминo;
 
Чтo языкoм oбoмлeвшeй лeгaвoй
 Мeсяц к сeбe пpимepзaeт; чтo pты,
 Кaк у фaльшивoмoнeтчикoв, - лaвoй
 Дуx зaxвaтившeгo льдa нaлиты. 
 

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‘Gotta keep living, though I’ve died twice’ Osip Mandelstam

Gotta keep living, though I’ve died twice,

and water’s driving the city crazy:

how beautiful, what high cheekbones, how happy,

how sweet the fat earth to the plough,

how the steppe extends in an April upheaval,

and the sky, the sky – pure Michelangelo…

 

by Осип Эмильевич Мандельштам (Osip Emilyevich Mandelshtam. His surname is commonly latinised as Mandelstam)

(1935)

translated by Andrew Davis

‘No, not the moon – the bright face of a clock’ by Osip Mandelstam

No, not the moon – the bright face of a clock

glimmers to me. How is it my fault

that I perceive the feeble stars as milky?

And I hate Batyushkov’s unbounding arrogance:

What time is it? Someone simply asked –

and he replied to them: eternity!

 

by Осип Эмильевич Мандельштам (Osip Emilyevich Mandelshtam. His surname is commonly latinised as Mandelstam)

(1912)

translated by Boris Dralyuk

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Fun fact: Such an exchange did occur between Konstanin Batyushkov and his doctor and in his poem ‘For The Tombstone of a Little Girl’ he imagined a dead baby saying to her parents ‘Dear ones, don’t cry! / Envy my ephemerality; / I did not know this life, / And know eternity’ (translation by Peter France).