Tuesday, December 24, 2019


This is my attempt to translate the beginning of Evgeny Onegin:

"My uncle, man of worth and honor,         
Made us respect him fast indeed         
When he fell ill and looked a goner.
His fine example all should heed.
He knows what suits him like no other,    
But oh my God, it's such a bother           
To sit with him both night and day              
Not daring once to step away.
It feels so crass and insincere
To humor someone who's half-dead,
Adjust the pillows on his bed,
To bring him tablets, wipe a tear,             
And sigh and think the whole way through:
When will the devil summon you?"

A youthful scoundrel thought this, driving
In a swift carriage through the din.
By Zeus’s will the sole surviving
Inheritor of all his kin.