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I’ve built my monument, but not with hands I made it;
Where the crowds flock to it, no grass shall ever grow.
With an unruly head it soars, and in its shade it
Leaves Alexander’s Pillar low.

Not all of me shall die! My secret lyre shall show it
And make my soul outlive the dust and fly decay.
And I shall be renowned while lives a single poet
On earth beneath the eye of day.

Through all great Russia’s spaces shall my name be spoken.
And every living tongue of man my name shall tell;
Proud breed of Slav, and Finn, and Tungus still unbroken,
And Kalmuck whom the steppe knows well.

And I shall for long years be loved by all the nation
Because for noble passions with my lyre I call,
Because in pitiless days I prayed for liberation,
Asked clemency for those who fall.

Listen to God’s commands, my Muse, not disobeying;
Fear not rebuke nor ask to win the crown of bay,
Indifferent to praise and censure, nothing saying
To fools, but let them have their say.

Translated by Cecil Maurice Bowra

A.S. Pushkin. Monument (“I’ve built my monument, but not with hands I made it...”). Translated by Cecil Maurice Bowra // Alexander Pushkin. Collected Works: Parallel Russian Text and English Translation.
© Электронная публикация — РВБ, 2022—2024. Версия 2.1 от 30 ноября 2023 г.