An as it's going often at love's breaking,
The ghost of first days came again to us,
The silver willow through window then stretched in,
The silver beauty of her gentle branches.
The bird began to sing the song of light and pleasure
To us, who fears to lift looks from the earth,
Who are so lofty, bitter and intense,
About days when we were saved together.
И, как всегда бывает в дни разрыва,
К нам постучался призрак первых дней,
И ворвалась серебряная ива
Седым великолепием ветвей.
Нам, исступленным, горьким и надменным,
Не смеющим глаза поднять с земли,
Запела птица голосом блаженным
О том, как мы друг друга берегли.
«The Tale of Tsar Saltan, of His Son, the Glorious and Mighty Knight Prince Guidon Saltonovich, and of the Fair Swan-Princess Three fair maidens, late one night, / Sat and spun by candlelight. / "Were our tsar to marry me," / Said the eldest of the three, / "I would cook and I would bake –...»
«I splashed some colours from a tumbler / and smeared the drab world with emotion. / I charted on a dish of jelly / the jutting cheekbones of the ocean. / Upon the scales of a tin salmon / I read the calls of lips yet mute. / And you, / could you have played a noc...»
«Windows split the city’s great hell / into tiny hellets — vamps with lamps. / The cars, red devils, exploded their yells / right in your ear, rearing on their rumps. And there, under the signboard with herrings from Kerch / an old man, knocked down, stooping to search / for his specs,...»
«Now, listen! / Surely, if the stars arc lit / there’s somebody who longs for them, / somebody who wants them to shine a bit, / somebody who calls it, that wee speck of spittle, a gem? And overridden / by blizzards of midday dust, / tears in to God, / afraid that it’s too late, / ...»