Motor-scooter roaring
past the sanatorium!
Behind the handlebars
like Rublyov angels: loving riders.
As in the fresco of the Annunciation
with its strident white tone
see their women scattering a shine
behind them, like wings on their spine!
The splaying of their dress!
Tugged back from the handlebars!
Thrust into my shoulders
a wing’s white fleece!
Shall I fly off?
Drop down
like a falcon?
A stone? –
Autumn.
The skies. The good
red woods.
Мимо санатория
реют мотороллеры.
За рулем влюбленные —
как ангелы рублевские.
Фреской Благовещенья,
резкой белизной
за ними блещут женщины,
как крылья за спиной!
Их одежда плещет,
рвется от руля,
вонзайтесь в мои плечи,
белые крыла.
Улечу ли?
Кану ль?
Соколом ли?
Камнем?
Осень. Небеса.
Красные леса.
«The gypsy passion of parting! / You meet it — and you take flight! / I dropped the arms and the forehead / And think staring into the night: No one, digging in our letters, / Understood in all depth / How we're sacrilegious — that is / How we in each other have faith...»
«Marvelous night picture, / It's so dear to me: / White plain, wintry mixture, / Full moon carefree, / / Light of soaring heaven, / Shiny snow display, / And a lonely racing / Of the distant sleigh.»
«As a wavy cloud, / Dust soars from wind gust; / Horsed man or dismounted — / Can't see in the dust! / / I see: someone's riding / Splendid dashing steed. / My friend, distant buddy, / Reminisce of me!»
«I have come to please you, dear, / To impart the sun be ardent, / Tell you that its glares quiver / On the leaves of the green garden; / Come to tell you: in the forest / Branches talk with animation, / Every early bird is earnest, — / Woods are full of a spring passion. /...»