Ольга Берггольц Молодость in English

…I'll sing to you songs at last,
I'll call you my friend - so loved.
To you, my youth, when you pass,
my youth, fleet-footed, thin-armed.
Oh, outposts' cherry prison,
komsomol in palisade,
guitar's sounds in spring season,
stars in ambush in the shade!
I can't give up or donate
youthful languor's oppression,
this fearsome feeling of fate,
so much like inspiration.
You seemed to me, fate, a lot:
in a placard - rusty war,
in a "fight" - explosive word,
when at night alone I was.
How furred are poplars in springs,
non-stop is insomnia,
how close earth spins on dawn wings,
friends are far away and dear.
And love? Air and light about,
like the breath — ever with you,
there is no end, no way out, —
oh, its wing, which is light blue!
…That's when I'll sing the first song,
I'll call you my friend, so loved.
To you, my youth, when you're gone,
my youth, fleet-footed, thin-armed.

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4-5 June, 2024