It s not for us to judge

(Перевод песни "Не нам судить" в исполнении Олега Митяева)


The fancy is quite paid and quite excused

And it would have been hard not to lie

And for us, now, where’s the invention? Where’s the truth?

Where’s the nonsense? Where’s the reality? - It will never be possible to discover!

Through the Big Bear’s transparent dipper…

Through the branches of apple trees in their white blossom…

It’s hard to see anything clearly and

We’ll, definitely, have to read

What the author is writing on his sheets…

 

And he’ll write about everything in this world,

About coincidences from our dreams

And we’ll believe, right as children do,

As if it was an obsession - that magic words’ order!

There will be a smell of the open see and eucalyptus

The one of thick potion of Indian herbs…

Oh, how’s sweet to be carried away by reading,

Having given your peace and your sleep for this!

 

…Thus, she is long ago the wife of some other

And she’s sailing with that another one to the farthest shores

And the New World, while greeting the ship

Is not yet aware of the one who will come upon their tracks

Once, on a moody morning, being sick and weak

And it’s impossible to predict what would happen then…

He’d better treat himself

And not deprive all Scotsmen of their eternal glory

But he, being scabbed and in fever,

Still overcoming the season of rains,

Is writing something on in his notebook

About the honor and the bravery of Redskin tribes’ chiefs….

 

And thus, while the rain was heavily pouring over the roof

Out of waiting, as if out from the chest

All of a sudden, Flint dropped his crutch like letter “Y”

Together with the book for all times!

And there’s never a way to happen otherwise, but

Out of genuine, self trouble that come to the world

True tales, where the grief of others will melt away as ice…

 

And don’t prevent him from his knocking about the world

And his being mistaken on anyone’s account…

When he finishes his writing, then, it may be the life goes that way!

 

The night will loose its silvery yarn

And let it fall in threads upon the waves

She will come on the shore at sunrise,

Having left her home, to him, at her will

 

And all about the sinful and the spiritual in it

Will be written down by someone else,

(It’s not for us to judge), in the register of fates,

But at nine o’clock sharp in the morning he’s giving the birth to their bond!

13/11/2010