The first movement is singing,
A free voice, filling mountains and valleys.
The first movement is joy,
But it is taken away.

And now that the years have transformed my blood
And thousands of planetary systems have been born and died in my flesh.
I sit, a sly and angry poet
With malevolently squinted eyes,
And, weighing a pen in my hand,
I plot revenge.

I poise the pen and it puts forth twigs and leaves, it is covered with blossoms.

And the scent of that tree is impudent, for there, on the real earth,
Such trees do not grow, and like an insult
To suffering humanity is the scent of that tree.

Some take refuge in despair, which is sweet
Like strong tobacco, like a glass of vodka drunk in the hour of annihilation.
Others have the hope of fools, rosy as erotic dreams.

Still others find peace in the idolatry of country,
Which can last for a long time,
Although little longer than the nineteenth century lasts.

But to me a cynical hope is given,
For since I opened my eyes I have seen only the glow of fires, massacres,
Only injustice, humiliation, and the laughable shame of braggarts.
To me is given the hope of revenge on others and on myself,
For I was he who knew
And took from it no profit for myself.

最初的乐章是歌唱，
一个自由的声音，充满山谷。
最初的乐章是喜悦，
可它已被夺走。

如今年月已改变我的血液
而千万星系在我体内出生并消灭。
我坐着，一个狡猾又愤怒的诗人
恶意睥睨
并掂量手中的笔，
我谋划复仇。

我悬着笔而它长出枝与叶，它被花朵覆盖。

而那棵树有种无礼的气味，因在真实的地上
不会长这样的树，如一种侮辱
是那树的气味于受苦的人类。

有些人在绝望中寻求慰藉，它甜蜜
如浓烈的烟草，如毁灭时分喝下的伏特加。
另一些人怀有愚人的愿望，美好得如同春梦。

还有人在国家的崇拜中找到安宁，
它可以持续很久，
虽然只比十九世纪稍长一点点。

可我被给予一个愤世的希望，
因我睁开眼看见的仅有火光，杀戮，
仅有不公，羞辱，与妄人可笑的耻辱。
我被给予向他人与自己复仇的希望，
因我知晓
却未从中为自己得到什么。