The spring is breaking river ice,
I feel no pity for the dead:
Upon new summits now I rise,
Forgetting ravines, now my eyes
Reflect blue distances ahead.
In smoky flames, I’ll feel no woe,
I won’t be grieving by the crosses,
I wait here for a sudden blow,
Or the divine to be bestowed
Upon me from the bush of Moses!
Весна в реке ломает льдины
И милых мёртвых мне не жаль:
Преодолев мои вершины,
Забыл я зимние теснины
И вижу голубую даль.
Что сожалеть в дыму пожара,
Что сокрушаться у креста,
Когда всечасно жду удара
Или божественного дара
Из Моисеева куста!
«At first You loved / Beauty best, / Curls touched with henna, / Plaintive call of the zurna, / Ringing — of hooves — on flint, / A shapely dismount, / In two Turkish slippers / Embroidered with semi-precious . . . Then You loved — someone else — / Sharp arched eyebrow, / S...»
«Still darkness, darkness everywhere. / And still so early in the world, / Innumerable stars appear / And each so bright in the night air / That if the earth could count them there, / It would sleep through Easter, lulled / By chanted psalm and chanted prayer. Still darkness, darkness ev...»
«A girl is freezing in a telephone booth, / huddled in her flimsy coat, / her face stained by tears / and smeared with lipstick. She breathes on her thin little fingers. / Fingers like ice. Glass beads in her ears. She has to beat her way back alone / down the icy street. First frost. A...»
«A girl freezes in a telephone booth. / In her draughty overcoat she hides / A face all smeared / in lipstick and tears. She breathes on her thin palms. / Her fingers are icicles. She wears ear-rings. She'll have to walk home alone, / Along the ice-bound street. First ice. The very first...»