Already beautiful on the bookshelf
Your well-situated sister is set,
But over you is debris of starry hoards
And under you are fiery coals.
How you prayed, how you wanted to live,
How you dreaded the scathing fire,
But all at once your body began trembling,
And your voice, flying off, swore at me.
And just like that, the pines began to rustle
Making reflections in the deep moonlit water,
While around the fires of the sacred spring
Already you led the round-dance across the graves.
Уже красуется на книжной полке
Твоя благополучная сестра,
А над тобою звездных стай осколки
И под тобою угольки костра.
Как ты молила, как ты жить хотела,
Как ты боялась едкого огня!
Но вдруг твое затрепетало тело,
А голос, улетая, клял меня.
И сразу все зашелестели сосны
И отразились в недрах лунных вод.
А вкруг костра священнейшие весны
Уже вели надгробный хоровод.
«Nothing but anniversaries, anniversaries... / Our liter reeks like a kitchen! / To judge by it, all Russia / Is teeming with great men: / After their deaths, it’s certain. / Following magnificent empty sanctimonies, / A hundred Pantheons / And a hundred Westminster Abbeys won’t suf...»
«Yes, for the multitude of people it’s hard to avoid / The creative influence of celebrated ideas, / The influence of Rudins, Raskolnikovs, Chatskys, / Oblomovs!1 They weigh us down!.. Not like chains, / But only mentally, absolutely not heavy, brotherly... / The artist cuts a silhouette ...»
«My glass windows got fogging. / The light pours from the moon. / I am standing just for nothing / here as a stone. It is windy. The birch bends / under gusts of wind. / And I also survived bends / of my life, indeed... The sad series of years / is unwittingly just grown / in my wi...»
«My friend, I'm really just sorry / about who, in secret blindness, / passing all length of the green alley, / just can not notice on leaves / the striking network of the streaks / and points of the tubercles / or even the serrated tracks / from saws of the blue-horned slugs.»