By the early sunrise seized,
I sing of love aloud,
In the garden, on my knees
Weeding goosefoot out.
I tear it out and I hurl —
Pardon this offense.
I see a little barefoot girl
Crying by the fence.
Voice of sorrow rings and swells,
Filling me with dread,
Stronger grows the tepid smell
Of the weed now dead.
Stone, not bread, will be my prize
To accept with poise,
Up above me, just the skies,
And with me, your voice.
Я на солнечном восходе
Про любовь пою,
На коленях в огороде
Лебеду полю.
Вырываю и бросаю —
Пусть простит меня.
Вижу, девочка босая
Плачет у плетня.
Страшно мне от звонких воплей
Голоса беды,
Всё сильнее запах тёплый
Мёртвой лебеды.
Будет камень вместо хлеба
Мне наградой злой.
Надо мною только небо,
А со мною голос твой.
«At first You loved / Beauty best, / Curls touched with henna, / Plaintive call of the zurna, / Ringing — of hooves — on flint, / A shapely dismount, / In two Turkish slippers / Embroidered with semi-precious . . . Then You loved — someone else — / Sharp arched eyebrow, / S...»
«Still darkness, darkness everywhere. / And still so early in the world, / Innumerable stars appear / And each so bright in the night air / That if the earth could count them there, / It would sleep through Easter, lulled / By chanted psalm and chanted prayer. Still darkness, darkness ev...»
«A girl is freezing in a telephone booth, / huddled in her flimsy coat, / her face stained by tears / and smeared with lipstick. She breathes on her thin little fingers. / Fingers like ice. Glass beads in her ears. She has to beat her way back alone / down the icy street. First frost. A...»
«A girl freezes in a telephone booth. / In her draughty overcoat she hides / A face all smeared / in lipstick and tears. She breathes on her thin palms. / Her fingers are icicles. She wears ear-rings. She'll have to walk home alone, / Along the ice-bound street. First ice. The very first...»