What does a woman alone know about mortal time?
O. Mandelstam
Ever the best dressed of all, of all the rosiest and tallest,
Why do you rise up from the depth of murderous years?
And why does memory wave at me ravishingly
With your transparent profile from a carriage window?
How we would bicker — were you angel or bird?
The poet dubbed you “the straw
Through the dark lashes and Daryal2 eyes
A beneficent light fell equally upon all.
O shade! Forgive me, but the clear weather,
Flaubert, insomnia and belated lilacs
Remind me of you — beauty of the thirteenth year —
Of you — and of your cloudless and
Unsettled day... Memory of such a face
Does not suit my genius now. O Shade!
Что знает женщина одна о смертном часе?
О. Мандельштам
Всегда нарядней всех, всех розовей и выше,
Зачем всплываешь ты со дна погибших лет,
И память хищная передо мной колышет
Прозрачный профиль твой за стеклами карет?
Как спорили тогда — ты ангел или птица!
Соломинкой тебя назвал поэт.
Равно на всех сквозь черные ресницы
Дарьяльских глаз струился нежный свет.
О тень! Прости меня, но ясная погода,
Флобер, бессонница и поздняя сирень
Тебя — красавицу тринадцатого года —
И твой безоблачный и равнодушный день
Напомнили... А мне такого рода
Воспоминанья не к лицу. О тень!
«I’m not that lover, filled with passion, — / That youth, who left the world amazed: / Alas, my spring and summer passed now, / And didn’t leave a single trace. / Cupid, the god of youth and love and virtue! / I used to be your steadfast servant; / Oh, if I could be reborn, — I...»
«— What’s new? “I tell you, nothing whatsoever.” / — Don’t fool with me: you’re hiding it, I know. / Oh, don’t you feel ashamed? you think you’re clever / To hide the news from me like from a foe? / Oh, tell me, brother, why? Inform me, I insist! / Don’t be so stubborn, ...»
«Today your gods do not deny you / These golden nights and golden days, / And gentle, fragile ladies eye you / With an attentive fervent gaze. / Play on, sing on, while you are blessed! / Squander away the fleeting night; / Through tears, I smile at the sight / Of your light-hearted hap...»
«My days still linger, slow and rough, / Each moment multiplies the sadness / Within the heart of hapless love / And drives my yearning into madness. / I’m silent; I don’t dare to breathe. / I weep, my tears are my salvation. / My soul, held captive in this grief, / In tears alone f...»