My days still linger, slow and rough,
Each moment multiplies the sadness
Within the heart of hapless love
And drives my yearning into madness.
I’m silent; I don’t dare to breathe.
I weep, my tears are my salvation.
My soul, held captive in this grief,
In tears alone finds consolation.
No longer do I care if life goes by,
Its empty ghost will lastly set me free;
The sorrow of my love is dear to me —
If I die loving, then I pray let die!
Медлительно влекутся дни мои,
И каждый миг в унылом сердце множит
Все горести несчастливой любви
И все мечты безумия тревожит.
Но я молчу; не слышен ропот мой;
Я слезы лью; мне слезы утешенье;
Моя душа, плененная тоской,
В них горькое находит наслажденье.
О жизни час! лети, не жаль тебя,
Исчезни в тьме, пустое привиденье;
Мне дорого любви моей мученье —
Пускай умру, но пусть умру любя!
«I’ll sew myself a pair of black trousers / from the velvet of my voice. / A yellow smock from three yards of sunset. / I’ll saunter along the Nevsky Prospect of the world, / along its polished strips, / with the step of Don Juan and a fop. Let the earth, gone to seed from neglect, ye...»
«A / street. / Mastiff / faces / sharp- / er / than years. O- / ver / iron horses / the first cubes leapt / from the windows of running houses. / Swans of bell necks / curve themselves in nooses of cables! / In the sky a cartoon giraffe is about / to show off motley rusty ...»
«I drink to this ruined home, / To my evil life, / To our mutual loneliness, / And I drink to you — To the lie from the lips that betrayed me, / To the deadly coldness of your eyes, / To the fact that the world is cruel and crude, / To the fact that God did not save us.»
«And the next time, a deaf-mute — / I will come to a world where I give a poem to everyone, give everyone my hearing. Indeed it’s all the same — what they say — I don’t understand. / Indeed it’s all the same — who can make it out? — what I say. Forbid me God — again Corinna / ...»