Two girls were tossing dahlias while passing.
They tossed them sparingly upon the lane.
The women shook their heads and said with sadness:
"Bouquets are pricey now — it's such a shame..."
The street looked on with hungry discomposure.
They watched the little girls who led the way;
They eyed the hands upon the chest, and noticed
Their ghostly hue next to the cheap brocade.
The mourners carried wreaths both sparse and weighty,
And led the black-clad elders by the hand.
The women's dowry money, now depleted,
Paid for those wreaths — a life's allowance spent.
The mourners slowly reached the cemetery
And quickened as the funeral began.
The women's gentle eyes were dim and heavy;
Their cheeks collapsed in faces grave and wan.
They drank and drank — they tossed back shots and glasses —
And all their sadness left them for a while.
For quite some time the roads would smell of chacha,
And voices would be gravelly and tired.
And then they sang a rousing song together
To purposely forget about the pain.
That's how they buried darling little Geuli.
It's been a while — it wasn't yesterday...
Две девочки бросали георгины,
бросали бережливо, иногда,
и женщины устало говорили:
— Цветы сегодня дороги — беда...
И с жадным страхом улица глядела,
как девочки ступали впереди,
как в отблесках дешевого глазета
белым-белели руки на груди.
Несли венки, тяжелые, скупые,
старушек черных под руки влекли.
Да, все, что на приданое скопили,
все превратилось в белые венки.
На кладбище затеяли поминки,
все оживились, вздрогнули легко,
и лишь глаза у женщины поникли
и щеки провалились глубоко.
Но пили, пили стопкою и чашкой —
и горе отпустило, отлегло,
и на дороге долго пахло чачей,
и голоса звучали тяжело.
И веселились песни хоровые,
забывшие нарочно про беду...
Так девочку Геули хоронили.
Давно уже — не в нынешнем году.
«Why am I too amicable with others / Feeling that of all he is the farthest? / Why can’t I though shunning him elsewhere / Still not run him into, here and there? / Why on seeing him do I get angry, / At all exasperated, all and sundry? / Why when I am left with him in private / D...»
«How it is fresh beneath a shady lime-tree! / To the midday sun this place is out of reach, / And lots of fragrant fans in such a lone country / Are heaving lushed while rather chilly each. And over there, in a distance, the dry hot air / Is glittering in a drowsy upright stream, / ...»
«Swallows have already gone. / Yesterday’s sunset / Flickered rooks around the barn, / Whether anxious or for fun / Made a living net. Darkness is inducing sleep / Coming to the yard. / Fallen leaves are laid in heap. / Angry winds in chimneys weep, / Strike the windows hard. ...»
«I have got tired of chatting about something bombastic; / All these discussions entail only yawning in me... / Running from pedants for talking with you I am eagerly rushing; / Sure am I, — in your eyes, clear and clever black eyes, / There's more beauty than you find in a hundred o...»