He loved these three things
White peacocks, evening songs,
And worn-out maps of America.
No crying of children,
No raspberry tea,
No women's hysterics…
I was married to him.
Он любил три вещи на свете:
За вечерней пенье, белых павлинов
И стертые карты Америки.
Не любил, когда плачут дети,
Не любил чая с малиной
И женской истерики.
...А я была его женой.
«Under a dark veil she wrung her hands... / "What makes you grieve like this?" / I have made my lover drunk / With a bitter sadness. I’ll never forget it. He left, reeling, / His mouth twisted, desolate... / I ran downstairs, ran into the courtyard, / Managed to catch him opening the g...»
«I — am your voice, the warmth of your breath, / I — am the reflection of your face, / The futile trembling of futile wings, / I am with you to the end, in any case. That’s why you so fervently love / Me in my weakness and in my sin; / That’s why you impulsively gave / Me the bes...»
«And only one time with a foam / Wave is rising and falling down. / And heart can't live with parting tone, / There's no a betrayal — only love. We can be angry or be playing, / Or lying - but the heart is silent. / We never could produce betrayal: / The soul is one — and love is on...»
«There is a freedom blissful in a twilight / From the marked ciphers of a century, of year, day. / When? - that's not important. Here's the entrance, rather, / Into the depth of park, into the fires' flash. Not in a moisture, satiating flower, / Nor in the trees, full with a feel of love, / ...»