The Polish church’s lofty vaults
Are bluer than the skies…
O, merry boy, it’s all my fault,
I’ve brought you your demise. —
For all the roses from the garden,
For all you’ve written of,
For you, so dark and ardent,
Turned dull and pale from love.
I thought: it’s what you wanted —
Just like a grown-up might.
I thought that one so wanton
Could not be become your bride.
But it was all beyond repair.
And once the cold had come,
You’d follow, always, everywhere,
Already, seeming numb,
As if collecting there somehow
Signs of indifference. Please forgive me!
Why did you ever take the vow
To walk upon the path of grieving?
And death was reaching for you, pale...
What, then, became of you?
How fragile the throat, how frail
Under that collar of blue.
O, merry, cheerful boy, forgive,
My owlet, tormented outright!
O, it is just so hard to leave
This church for home tonight.
Высокие своды костела
Синей, чем небесная твердь...
Прости меня, мальчик веселый,
Что я принесла тебе смерть —
За розы с площадки круглой,
За глупые письма твои,
За то, что, дерзкий и смуглый,
Мутно бледнел от любви.
Я думала: ты нарочно —
Как взрослые хочешь быть.
Я думала: томно-порочных
Нельзя, как невест, любить.
Но все оказалось напрасно.
Когда пришли холода,
Следил ты уже бесстрастно
За мной везде и всегда.
Как будто копил приметы
Моей нелюбви. Прости!
Зачем ты принял обеты
Страдальческого пути?
И смерть к тебе руки простерла...
Скажи, что было потом?
Я не знала как хрупко горло
Под синим воротником.
Прости меня, мальчик веселый,
Совенок замученный мой!
Сегодня мне из костела
Так трудно уйти домой.
«Snowflakes glide, snowflakes glide. / Cranesbills’ flowers reach in swarms / To the white stars in the storm / Through the window sash, outside. Snowflakes glide, and all is muddled, / All is now beginning flight, / And the dark stairs with the cobbled / Crosswalk all begin to slide. ...»
«During the lengthy winter terms, / The equinoxes came to me: / Each day was peerless in its form / And each repeated endlessly. They came in sequence, bit by bit, / And slowly, started to add up — / Those rare and single days when it / Appears that time came to a stop. And now, each ...»
«In the lifetime of many days, / I hold in mind the days of ‘solstice’, / And every one was in his way, / And every — midst themselves not noticed. And, link by link, the whole chain / Was self-assembled by collecting / Just those days, exclusive, when / We dream that time is sto...»
«All is lost, I’m a beast in a pen. / There are people and freedom outside, / But the hunters are already at hand / And I haven’t a way to take flight. The bank of a pond... woods at night / And the trunk of the pine lying bare. / I am trapped and cut off on each side. / Come what co...»