Tiutczew PL/EN/RU

O, how our love is murderous,
The dearer something is to us
The surer are we to destroy it
In passion’s savage blindness!
Was it so long ago you said,
Proud of your victory: she’s mine . . .
Barely a year gone – stop and think,
What has remained of her?
Where are the roses in her cheeks,
Her smiling lips and shining eyes?
Rivers of scalding tears
Have scorched and burned them all.
Do you remember how you met,
Your very first, your fateful tête-à-tête;
Her gaze enchanting and her words,
Her laughter –lively, child-like?
What have you now? Where is it all?
Was it a lasting dream?
Alas, like northern summers,
It was a fleeting guest!
For her your love was naught but
Fate’s awful judgment.
It weighed upon her life,
With undeserved shame.
A life of sacrifice, a life of trials!
Deep in her soul
She cherished memories . . .
Yet even they’ve betrayed her.
And earthly life has turned against her,
Its charms have disappeared. . .
The surging crowd’s ground in the dirt
All that had flourished in her heart.
And what like ashes has she gathered
After her long torment?
Pain, the cruel pain of bitterness,
Pain without cease and without tears!
O, how our love is murderous,
The dearer something is to us
The surer are we to destroy it
In passion’s savage blindness!



Speak not, lie hidden, and conceal

the way you dream, the things you feel.

Deep in your spirits let them rise

akin to stars in crystal skies

that set before the night is blurred:

delight in them and speak no word.


How can a heart expression find?

How should another know your mind?

Will he discern what quickens you?

A thought once uttered is untrue.

Dimmed is the fountainhead when stirred:

drink at the source and speak no word.


Live in your inner self alone

within your soul a world has grown,

the magic of veiled thoughts that might

be blinded by the outer light,

drowned in the noise of day, unheard…

take in their song and speak no word.


Fyodor Tyutchev (1830), translated by Vladimir Nabokov


Молчи, скрывайся и таи
И чувства и мечты свои –
Пускай в душевной глубине
Встают и заходят оне
Безмолвно, как звезды в ночи, –
Любуйся ими – и молчи.

Как сердцу высказать себя?
Другому как понять тебя?
Поймет ли он, чем ты живешь?
Мысль изреченная есть ложь.
Взрывая, возмутишь ключи, –
Питайся ими – и молчи.

Лишь жить в себе самом умей –
Есть целый мир в душе твоей
Таинственно-волшебных дум;
Их оглушит наружный шум,
Дневные разгонят лучи, –
Внимай их пенью – и молчи!..


Being silent when anticipating something important to happen has nothing in common with being a terrorist and what Western world perverted and definitely destroyed is simply love as an intimate choice of a heart of a person that cannot be judged, criticized, influenced.

And my main objection towards trends in West nowadays is that they fucking up people from more mystic and emotional East provoke another conflict… I cannot wait to see how they will piss their pants and will not know where to run out with bare ass when something seriously happen and will happen due to emotional uprising of people who simply feel