Why did you pollute the water,
with vileness adulterate my bread?
Why did you make the final freedom
into a den of thieves instead?
Was it because I did not mock
the bitter fate of friends?
Was it because I’d not betrayed
my piteous native land?
So be it. There can be no poet
without a butcher and a butcher’s block.
Weeping we go, with guttering candle,
garbed in penitential smock.
Зачем вы отравили воду
И с грязью мой смешали хлеб?
Зачем последнюю свободу
Вы превращаете в вертеп?
За то, что я не издевалась
Над горькой гибелью друзей?
За то, что я верна осталась
Печальной родине моей?
Пусть так. Без палача и плахи
Поэту на земле не быть.
Нам покаянные рубахи,
Нам со свечой идти и выть.
«I shut Homer and sat by the bay window glass. / On my lips the last word of the Iliad fluttered. / The night watchman’s long shadow unhurriedly passed, / And above something — lamplight or moonlight — bright sputtered. So, so often I’d throw down challenging looks / And I met in rep...»
«No, I can’t ever forget / your child’s mouth, your girl’s glance, / bold — I dream of you, / I speak, I think of you — always — like rhythm. I feel vast oceans / heaving as the moon yaws, / and whole galaxies, burning, / swinging as they have always swung, will always swing....»
«Being drawn into earthly passions, / I vision as from gloom to light / Once, dressed in black, Dark Angel rushes / To cry: "Salvation is a lie!" Yet, unassuming and lighthearted, / Delightful as a noble deed, / Comes angel from the white department / To add that hope is true indeed.»
«To Vl. Motyl As a child, I was convinced / that from all conditions / Potion of the Danish Prince / is the most efficient. / And that faith is burning since / brighter every year... / Potion of the Danish Prince / Savor, cavalier! Potion of this Prince or King / is as sweet as cand...»