The fifth act of the drama
Blows in the wind of autumn,
Each flower-bed in the park seems
A fresh grave, we have finished
The funeral-feast, and there’s nothing
To do. Why then do I linger
As if I am expecting
A miracle? It’s the way a feeble
Hand can hold fast to a heavy
Boat for a long time by the pier
As one is saying goodbye
To the person who’s left standing.
Пятым действием драмы
Веет воздух осенний,
Каждая клумба в парке
Кажется свежей могилой.
Справлена чистая тризна,
И больше нечего делать,
Что же я медлю, словно
Скоро свершится чудо?
Так тяжелую лодку долго
У пристани слабой рукою
Удерживать можно, прощаясь
С тем, кто остался на суше.
«Don’t weep for me — I’ll live on / as a happy beggar, a convict with goodwill, / as a southerner frozen in the north, / as a consumptive and ill-tempered Petershurger / in the malarial south I’ll live on. Don’t weep for me — I’ll live on / as that lame girl who came out on t...»
«Along my street, these steady steps resound / Year after year: my friends are slowly leaving. / The all-absorbing lightlessness around / Finds ease in seeing me alone and grieving. Sad, unattended are my friends’ affairs; / Their homes are dull; no song or music sounding; / Degas’ y...»
«And in conclusion I will say, / Farewell, don’t pledge your love in vanity. / My mind’s away, or on its way / Towards the higher loss of sanity. How loved was I? — You toyed with my / Mortality — that does not matter. / How loved was I? — You made me die, / But you could mak...»
«(From "Who Can Live Happily in Russia?") God's will be done! / No food he'll try, / The youngest son— / Look, he will die. A crust I got, / Another bit— / He touched it not: / "Put salt on it!" Of salt no shred, / No pinch I see! / "Take flour, instead," / God whispered me. ...»