I had lots of time today, so I was able to translate these. They lose quite a bit in translation, but there is nothing that can be done about that... I am not sure what some of these mean (in color), maybe someone else can elaborate.
In Tsarskoe Selo (Komarovsky)
I traded Piter, smoggy and sooty,
For a daily walk on Bulvarnaya.
Each evening passed in friendly conversations,
Take pleasure in freedom - it won't be there twice!
Serenity heals a model Tsarskoselite
Who takes slow walks, rid of evil,
In the linden alleys of the skeptical Minerva-
Here on the white docks, where the First Alexander,
While dreaming of disappearing from this world as a wanderer,
Put on his gloves and called to the swans.
Tossing crumbs of white bread,
Illumination does not light up the “ploshki”,
While the great bronze Lyceist is obscured.
But here, above the Tyutchev, a "rusty leaf" is circling,
And maybe, Lermontov once galloped along this alley?....
______________________________________________-
Every city has its destiny, as does each person...
And very special fate
has Tsarskoe Selo
Here, all is distinct,
not llike the rest of the world...
And even the air is very different -
in it is Pushkin's freshness
and spicy aftertaste of symbolism...
Here Literature herself is blooming,
do you hear the rustling of favorite books
and the rustling of wings.
_________________________________
The Statue of Tsarskoe Selo
Already maple leaves
Are falling into the swan pond,
And the bushes look bloody
With unhurriedly maturing mountain ash.
And dazzlingly willowy,
Her legs tucked under and never chilled,
On a northern rock, she
Sits and watches the roads.
____________________________________
In Tsarskoe Selo (Akhmatova)
Through the alley they lead little horses.
Long waves of brushed maines.
Oh, captivating town of mysteries,
I am sad, having fallen for you.
It is strange to remember: my soul was longing,
Gasping for air in death’s delirium.
Now I have become like a toy,
Like my pink friend cockatoo.
The chest is not crushed with premonition,
If you wish, look into my eyes.
I always disliked the hour before twilight,
The wind from the sea, and the words "go away".
A swarthy youth wandered in the alleys,
Longing on the shores of the pond,
This century we savored
Hardly hearing the rustle of footsteps.
Pine needles thick and sharp
Cover low tree stumps....
Here lied his hat
And a worn out volume of “Pariya”.
_____________________________________
In front of the Pushkin Memorial in Tsarskoe Selo (Paley)
The autumn day invites sad daydreams,
All is still… a yellow leaf is floating,
And in that ever unchanging – tranquil pose,
Daydreams the Inspirational Lyceist.
Oh, my idol! Radiant instructor,
To whom I owe so much!
I stand before you – grateful,
In the dim brilliance of a cloudy day.
