«To birds and to poets the Lord all their sustenance gives: / I dont reap or sow, but for a second year I exist. / And for kind song-poems the people whore also kind / Will forgive your errors and sins, too, if any they find. / Who needs the art now? Who needs it — I do not know, / But to...»
«My fire on the shore was getting low. / The liquid glass was petting sleepy sand. / And bitter wormwood soul, evaporating slow, / In misty darkness swayed above the land. The broken granite wings are not in motion, / The winding spine is caught by stone grips. / Abandoned land, I see your...»
«Was it not you / Who in the time of sorrow / Cast down / The scales and the sword / And licensed the berserk / To weigh the good and evil? / Was it not you / Who kneaded peoples / Solidly and densely, / Leavening the dough / With blood and tears, / Who now tramples down, fierce...»
«My bonfire on the shore was burning down. / I heard the rustling sound of streaming glass. / The acrid soul of wistful wormwood wound / Through languid darkness, swayed, and flowed past. / The granite crags resemble fractured wings. / The weight of hills bends down a spinal cord. / The n...»