This poem, which also became the text of the song, must necessarily sound in Russian. Many of those who died for Ukraine spoke Russian, and they had Russian-speaking mothers.

The translation that I saw did not satisfy me: it suffices to say that "yak мається" was understood not as "how it is", but "how it mags", which affected the translation; Well, a little further to the translator the original was tired - and went a little bit of hack-work.

In general, I had to wait for my inspiration to translate myself, especially since I already had such experience - with Ivan Franko's "Masons".

(Translating the reverse - the song "Let's pray for the parents" in Ukrainian - was for me much more complicated and was not flawed: for example, than "to be cold", it would be more successful to "cool". Still, it's easier to translate it on your native language - nowhere to go. ) So, first - the Ukrainian original text Oksana Maximishin-Korabel:.

Mamo, do not cry. I will turn in the spring.

I'll put your ptashkin into yours.

I'll come to the svatanni in the garden with the dew, And maybe, I'll drop it on the pier.

Golubko, do not cry. So it was judged, it's not bad, Scho word "matusyu" will not be mine.

I'll come and ask in a dream tvіy тихенько, Rozkazhu, як мається в domі новім.

Meni kolyskovo angel spivae, I wound is no longer a pain.

Ti znaєsh, matusyu, th here sumno bevaє, Soul after you, rіdnenka, pinch.

Mamochko, Vibach for Chornu hustynu, For those, scho vidninі budesh itself.

I love you. I loved Ukraine, Vona, yak i ti, bula in me is one.

My translation is sometimes, perhaps, somewhat free, but, I hope, not too much:.

Mom, do not cry. And I'll be back in the spring, I'll hit your window with a bird, I'll come at sunrise to your garden with a dew, Or maybe it'll rain on the threshold.

Dove, do not cry. Very soon, I know, You, Mama, will see you in a dream.

Quietly in it I will appear, dear, You will tell me how I live here.

The angel sings - cute, skillfully, The mortal wound no longer hurts.

You know, sometimes it's very sad here, Soul for you all yearns, sweats.

In a black kerchief you mourn for your son, Forgive me that now you will be home alone.

I loved you. And I loved Ukraine, my mother was my mother and she.

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