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.
«In spring before the dawn we see / Heaps in the kitchen garden, / As pagans for fertility / Their festal altars burden. The fresh-cut clods flame in my plot; / In steams at early morning, / And all the earth becomes red-hot / Just like an oven burning. I cast aside this shirt of mine /...»
«This spring there is a change in everything. / More lively is the sparrows' riot. / I shall not even try to tell of it, / How bright my soul is and how quiet. My thoughts and writings are quite different, / And from the choir's loud octaves singing / The mighty voice of earth is audible /...»
«The drowsy garden scatters insects / Bronze as the ash from braziers blown. / Level with me and with my candle, / Hang flowering worlds, their leaves full grown. As into some unheard-of dogma / I move across into this night. / Where a worn poplar age has grizzled / Screens the moon’s ...»
«Without an accoucheuse, in darkness, pushing her / Blind hands against the night, the Ural fastness, torn and / Half-dead with agony, was screaming in a blur / Of mindless pain, as she was giving birth to morning. And brushed by chance, tall ranges far and wide / Loosed toppling bronze pell...»