Confusion
II
Don’t love me, don’t wish to see me?
So handsome, and cursed all the while!
And now, I can’t even fly freely,
Though I’ve always had wings as a child.
The fog fills my eyes with clouds,
Things and faces are fused, all in all,
Just a single small tulip stands out,
Red from your buttonhole.
Смятение
2
Не любишь, не хочешь смотреть?
О, как ты красив, проклятый!
И я не могу взлететь,
А с детства была крылатой.
Мне очи застит туман,
Сливаются вещи и лица,
И только красный тюльпан,
Тюльпан у тебя в петлице.
«High / in the sky / sailed clouds. / Just four of them — / none of your crowds. / From the first to the third / they looked men, / ...»
«Hoofs plod / seeming to sing, / Grab. / Rib. / Grub. / Rob. / Ice-shod, / wind a-swing, / the street skidded. / On the roadway a cob / toppled, / and immediately, / loafer after loafer, / sweeping the Kuznetsky / with trousers bell-bottomous, / came mobbing. / Laughte...»
«at Pushkino, Akulov Hill, / Rumyantsev s dacha, / 27 versts from Moscow / by Yaroslavl railway. The sunset blazed like sixty suns. / July was under way. / The heat was dense, / the heat was tense, / upon that summer’s day. / The slope near Pushkino swelled up / into Akulov Hill,...»
«This is to you, / well-fed baritones, / from Adam / to the present day / shaking the dives called theatres with the groans / of Romeo and Juliet or some such child’s play. To you, / maitres painters / fattening like ponies, / guzzling and guffawing salt of the earth, / secluded ...»