How can I live with this burden —
And yet she’s called The Muse.
“She’s with you in a meadow … ,” they say.
They say, “Divine muttering!”
She’ll seize you worse than a fever
And then, for an entire year, nothing at all.
Как и жить мне с этой обузой,
А ещё называют Музой,
Говорят: «Ты с ней на лугу…»
Говорят: «Божественный лепет…»
Жёстче, чем лихорадка, оттреплет,
И опять весь год ни гу-гу.
«Swimming in the blue dust, / The moon butts a cloud with its horn. / This night, no one will guess / Why the herons screamed. / This night, she ran through the reeds / To the green backwater. / Her white hand swept her tousled hair / Over her tunic. / She ran up, glanced at the quick...»
«Your pensive sigh is calling me / To warm light, to my native threshold / / Where grandmother and grandfather sit on the porch / Awaiting their spirited sunflower-aged grandson. / / Their grandson is slim and white as a birch, / With honey hair and velvet hands. / / Except, o my...»
«Here it is, silly happiness / With white windows that look into the garden. / The sunset quietly swims / In the pond like a red swan. / / Hello, golden quiet / With your shadow of a birch in the water. / A flock of crows on the roof / Holds vespers for a star. / / Somewhere pas...»
«Country, o my country! / Autumnal rainy tin. / The shivering streetlight reflects / Its lipless head in a black puddle. / / No, it’s best not to look, / Or else I’ll see something worse. / I’ll just keep squinting my eyes / At all this rusted haze. / / It’s warmer this ...»