I simply don’t notice the smiles of summer
And of the winter I fail to unpick the secrets
But I have spotted almost without error
Three autumns each and every year.
And the first is a holiday mayhem
To spite the summer of yesterday
The leaves fly like tattered notebooks
The smoke smells incense-sweet
And all is moist motely and gay.
Birches are the first to join the dance
Attired from head to toe
Hurriedly shaking off their passing tears,
On the neighbour over the fence, and so
It happens that the story has merely commenced
One second, a minute, and well, what more to say
Except that the second autumn has come, silent
Like conscience; dark and gloomy like an air raid.
Suddenly all is paler and older
Raided is summer’s comfort
The golden trumpets of distant marches
Float in through the mist, fragrant and cold.
The high vault of the heavens is
Shrouded by the cold waves of incense
But suddenly the wind burst, the skies open
And it’s clear: the drama is ending, and
This isn’t the third autumn, but death.
Мне летние просто невнятны улыбки,
И тайны в зиме не найду.
Но я наблюдала почти без ошибки
Три осени в каждом году.
И первая — праздничный беспорядок
Вчерашнему лету назло,
И листья летят, словно клочья тетрадок,
И запах дымка так ладанно-сладок,
Всё влажно, пестро и светло.
И первыми в танец вступают березы,
Накинув сквозной убор,
Стряхнув второпях мимолетные слезы
На соседку через забор.
Но эта бывает — чуть начата повесть.
Секунда, минута — и вот
Приходит вторая, бесстрастна, как совесть,
Мрачна, как воздушный налет.
Все кажутся сразу бледнее и старше,
Разграблен летний уют,
И труб золотых отдаленные марши
В пахучем тумане плывут...
И в волнах холодных его фимиама
Закрыта высокая твердь,
Но ветер рванул, распахнулось — и прямо
Всем стало понятно: кончается драма,
И это не третья осень, а смерть.
«I When, little Straw, you lie in giant bedroom / And, sleepless, wait, that solemn, true and high, / Heavy and calm — what could be more despairing — / Forever on you will descend the sky — A whistling Straw, a dry Straw, or Straw empty, / You drank death to the brim and made it raw....»
«"I lost a cameo I used for grooming / On shores of the Nieva, I know not where. / I pity a majestic Roman woman" — / You uttered this to me in near despair. But what's the point, you gorgeous Georgian maiden, / Of shaking divine ashes from the sky? / One fluffy snowflake, its beauty fad...»
«Hellenes were readying for war / Over a gorgeous island Salamin. / Overtaken fully by the foe / From Athens' harbor it was seen. And now the friends and islanders / Fill our ships with their toil. / Englishmen did not love earlier / The sweetness of Europe's soil. O Europe, you, the ne...»
«I'm feeling chilly. The transparent spring / Dresses Petropolis in a verdant down / But, like a jellyfish, Nieva's blue waves / Revulse me slightly and bid me calm down. / Upon the northern shores of this great river / The headlights of the autos head out far / Dragonflies soar and steel...»