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.
«We saw death at rather close range, / and perhaps we could have died ourselves, / we walked wherever it was possible to walk, / and looked at everything that one could look at. / We climbed into trenches / drenched with the smell of creosote / and “sake” spilt on the sand, / where ...»
«To A. Surkov Remember, Alyosha, the roads of Smolensk, / The cruel, the endlessly falling rain, / The tired women bringing us earthenware vessels, / And hugging them, like children, from the rain, How they wiped their eyes, stealthily, / And whispered on parting: “May God protect you! / ...»
«On an accordion which had seen plenty, / Moving his fingers over husky keys, / In an unfamiliar car the blind man played / The song “Along the Highway.”1 Blinded near Molodechno, / Back in that other, different war, / Straight from the clinic, he had set out, crippled, / His eyes sh...»
«Wait for me, and I’ll come back, / But wait with all your might, / Wait when dreariness descends / With the yellow rains, / Wait when snowdrifts sweep the ground, / Wait during the heat, / Wait when others are given up / And together with the past forgotten. / Wait when from distan...»