I heard the voice. It promised solace.
"Come here," it seemed so softly call.
"Leave Russia, sinning, lost and graceless,
Leave your land, pray, for good and all.
I'll cleanse your hands from blood that stains you,
And from your heart draw back black shame,
The hurts of failure, wrongs that pain you
I'll veil with yet another name."
With even calm deliberation
I raised my hands to stop my ears,
Lest that ignoble invitation
Defile a spirit lost in tears.
Мне голос был. Он звал утешно.
Он говорил: «Иди сюда,
Оставь свой край глухой и грешный.
Оставь Россию навсегда.
Я кровь от рук твоих отмою,
Из сердца выну черный стыд,
Я новым именем покрою
Боль поражений и обид».
Но равнодушно и спокойно
Руками я замкнула слух,
Чтоб этой речью недостойной
Не осквернился скорбный слух.
«Spring, coming in from street, where poplars / stand amazed, the distance is scared, the houses / afraid to fall down, the air blue, like a sack / of clothes carried by a patient leaving a hospital. Where the evening is empty, an interrupted tale, / left abandoned by a star without contin...»
«With blinding brilliance / The evening dawns at seven. / From streets toward awnings / Darkness marches apace. / People – they are manikins; / Only lust and sadness lead / Them across the universe / Feeling their way by touch. / The heart under the palm / Betrays with its shudder...»
«The sound, cautiously subdued, / of a fruit having come unglued / from a tree among unquiet hum / of the deepest silence of wood.»
«The distant and obscure sound, / A fruit fell from a tree among / Unceasing music of a tongue / Of forests – silent and profound…»