«In the brightness of autumn evenings / here is a touching, mysterious charm: / an ominous glitter, motley trees, / a light, languorous rustle of scarlet leaves, / a hazy, quiet blueness / across the sadly orphaned world / and, presaging gathering storms, / at times a gusty snap ...»
«We live, not sensing our own country beneath us, / ten steps away they evaporate, our speeches, but where enough meet for half-conversation, / the Kremlin mountain man’s our occupation. They’re like slimy worms, his fat fingers, / his words, as solid as weights of measure. In his cockro...»
«We live, not feeling the earth beneath us / At ten paces our words evaporate. / But when there’s the will to crack open our mouths / our words orbit the Kremlin mountain man. / Murderer, peasant killer. His fingers plump as grubs. / His words drop like lead weights. / His laughing coc...»
«Our lives no longer feel ground under them. / At ten paces you can’t hear our words. But whenever there’s a snatch of talk / it turns to the Kremlin mountaineer, the ten thick worms his fingers, / his words like measures of weight, the huge laughing cockroaches on his top lip, / the g...»