July intermezzo - Англ. пер из Иосифа Бродкого

            July's intermezzo- 
Июльское интермеццо - Перевод стихотворения Иосифа Бродского
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The ladies, those that we were hugging,
those with whom we were sleeping,
our buddies with whom we were drinking,
kinsfolk who fed us and never stopped shopping,
brothers and sisters, who we held so dear,
companions, random neighbors living upstairs,
our classmates, our teachers, - yes, every person, -
why don't I see them any longer, where did they all disappear?
 
Autumn is coming, which one by the count, autumn is coming,
this latest autumn makes strangest rustles in the tree,
here again are proceeding before me, at night passing,
in the bright daylight, reddish faces foreign to me.
Are they really all dead, is that the truth and none other,
all those who loved me, hugged me, and simply played,
can it be true that I wouldn’t hear afar the cry of my brother,
can it be true that they all have left, and only I stayed?
 
Here, alone, amid all the old and brand-new roadways,
passing alone, not encountering anyone at all now,
I’m not allowed to enter, narrowness of the neat stairways
and strangers’ dwellings are ringing over my sorrow.
 
Go on, ring, ring, new life, hover over my moaning,
to the new, which ones by the count,  lusts and losses I must agree,
to the strange faces, extraneous noises, and the new clothing,
go on, ring, ring, and shut down your doors right in front of me.
 
Go on, rustle over me, with your newest, your wide formation,
rattle under me, reflect my shadow with your hard stone,
with your light stone loom at me from the desolation,
leaving me, leaving me my dead, who are gone.