When a person dies,
His portraits change.
His eyes gaze differently, and his lips
Smile with a different smile.
I noticed this once I came home
From the funeral of a poet.
And since then, I verified this often
And my theory was always confirmed.
Когда человек умирает,
Изменяются его портреты.
По-другому глаза глядят, и губы
Улыбаются другой улыбкой.
Я заметила это, вернувшись
С похорон одного поэта.
И с тех пор проверяла часто,
И моя догадка подтвердилась.
«All thought of prowess, valiant deeds and fame / Would leave me on this suffering earth when on / Your lovely face I gazed that glowed and shone / Before me in its simple wooden frame. But your fate to another you surrendered, / You left, and I… I flung into the night / The cherished ri...»
«I'll never forget (did it happen, or not, / That evening): the sunset's fire / Consumed and split the pale sky, / And streetlamps flared against the yellow sunset. I sat by the window in a crowded room. / Distant bows were singing of love. / I sent you a black rose in a goblet / Of cham...»
«I shall not forget it (that evening either / Happened, or did not): the pallid sky / Was burned and sundered by the sunset’s / Fire, and against the yellow glow of street lamps. I sat at the window in the overcrowded room. / Somewhere, the fiddlers sang of love. / I sent you a black ros...»
«I shall never forget (was it real or fancied, / That far evening?) the yellowish light / Of a sky scorched and riven by flame and, against it, / Rows of streetlamps already alight. It was crowded. The bows scraped the strings, and, lamenting / Love’s swift passing, spoke sadly to me. / ...»