My night — I think of you obsessively,
My day — indifferent: let it be!
I turned and smiled at my destiny
That brought me only misery.
The fumes of yesterday are dire,
The flames that burn me will not die,
It seems to me, this blazing fire
Will not become a sunlit sky.
Shall I endure without conceding,
And curse you for not being there?..
You’re far away. You’ll never see me
Imprisoned in my awful snare.
Ночь моя — бред о тебе,
День — равнодушное: пусть!
Я улыбнулась судьбе,
Мне посылающей грусть.
Тяжек вчерашний угар,
Скоро ли я догорю,
Кажется, этот пожар
Не превратится в зарю.
Долго ль мне бится в огне,
Дальнего тайно кляня?..
В страшной моей западне
Ты не увидишь меня.
«People cut a hole through / The dark-blue thickness of ice: / An air vent for big fish and little, / Water for water hoistings, / A way out for a weary woman / If in the end life turned out / Not to be traveling her road, / If she had nowhere to go!»
«Chase poems of the night away, / No need for preemies of the spirit: / Since night assists you at their birth, / And night is an atrocious midwife. You madman! If you really do / Aspire to exalted singing, / Outstubborn, try to overcome / Your momentary excitation. Know this: the chatt...»
«To Maksakova “I know who you’re mad for, darling! / And for whom your sighing pleads: / And it’s me who has inflamed you / With this burning chilly breeze. “Don’t lie low, don’t be persistent, – / Either way you’ll come again, / Gypsy love has put its stinger / In our ...»
«What is the meaning of seventh heaven? / Is it a circle deep into the heights? / Like the gallery in a theater, / An outer limit for enthusiasts? Even amoebas have their own heaven, / Replete with a throng of amoebic saints, / They have their heroes, and Cleopatras, / Zealous for love a...»