Andrei Bely
- Autumn, by Max Thompson
(My fingers slipped out of your hands...)
Андрей Бели (български)
- Есен, Красимир Георгиев
(В твойте длани ръцете ми хлипаха...)
«I'll never forget (did it happen, or not, / That evening): the sunset's fire / Consumed and split the pale sky, / And streetlamps flared against the yellow sunset. I sat by the window in a crowded room. / Distant bows were singing of love. / I sent you a black rose in a goblet / Of cham...»
«I shall not forget it (that evening either / Happened, or did not): the pallid sky / Was burned and sundered by the sunset’s / Fire, and against the yellow glow of street lamps. I sat at the window in the overcrowded room. / Somewhere, the fiddlers sang of love. / I sent you a black ros...»
«I shall never forget (was it real or fancied, / That far evening?) the yellowish light / Of a sky scorched and riven by flame and, against it, / Rows of streetlamps already alight. It was crowded. The bows scraped the strings, and, lamenting / Love’s swift passing, spoke sadly to me. / ...»
«The house next door has yellow windows. / Every night — every night / The wistful bolts begin to squeak, / Men walk slowly to the gate. The heavy gates are double-locked, / And on the wall — on the wall / Someone silent, someone black / Sits motionless and counts them all. His voic...»