Click. The bullet was engaged.
The wild candle settled down.
Oh how sorely he had aged.
How long all this had gone on.
Frontiers of old age fell as
he remembered far off days —
his old regimental colours
all the glitter, all the noise.
Old age brings no happiness.
He trudged, trudged out yesterday
for a look at the First ice.
There he loitered, solitary.
Then he started off for home:
heavy footsteps slowed and slowed.
Suddenly in front of him
stood this woman — oh my God:
back it all came — long ago
thunderstorm and deep footprints
and her shoulderline cut low
trimmed with a white cambric flounce.
Why for her here in this spring
was that spring beyond recall?
Eyes so full of suffering
she stood simply by the wall.
So, the mortal shot will boom
rattling the vodka glasses
and his wife's big hand will slam
on the coffin when he passes.
Reading of it in the paper
up will come his shameless friend.
For the solace of the weeper
he will kiss the weeper's hand.
It will pour a drink for him
and his casual glance will range
round to where some medals gleam
on a cushion, dead and strange.
Он приготовил пистолет,
свеча качнулась, продержалась.
Как тяжело он постарел.
Как долго это продолжалось.
И вспомнил он издалека —
там, за пределом постаренья,
знамена своего полка,
сверканья, трубы, построенья.
Не радостно ему стареть.
Вчера побрел, побрел далеко
на первый ледоход смотреть,
стоял там долго, одиноко.
Потом отправился домой,
шаги тяжелые замедлил
и вдруг заметил, Боже мой,
вдруг эту женщину заметил.
И вспомнилось — давным-давно
гроза, глубокий след ботинка,
её плечо обведено
оборкой белого батиста.
Зачем она среди весны
о той весне не вспоминала,
стояла просто у стены,
такая жалкая стояла.
И вот смертельный этот гром
раздастся, задевая рюмки,
и страшно упадут на гроб
жены его большие руки.
Придет его бесстыдный друг,
успевший прочитать в газете.
Для утешенья этих рук
он поцелует руки эти.
Они нальют ему вина,
и взглянет он непринужденно,
как на подушке ордена
горят мертво и отчужденно.
«A click of window glass had roused me / Out of my sleep at early dawn. / Beneath me Venice swam in water, / A sodden pretzel made of stone. It was all quiet now; however, / While still asleep, I heard a cry — / And, like a sign that had been silence, / It still disturbed the morning s...»
«It snowed and snowed throughout the land, / A ceaseless snowing. / On the table, a candle burned; / A flame was glowing. Like a swarm of gnats in summer / That flock to a light, / Snowflakes flew to the windowpane, / Afloat in the night. The storm drew arrows on the glass / And circl...»
«And the just man trailed God's shining agent, / over a black mountain, in his giant track, / while a restless voice kept harrying his woman: / "It's not too late, you can still look back at the red towers of your native Sodom, / the square where once you sang, the spinning-shed, / at the ...»
«Homesickness! Long ago revealed / as fraudulent delusion. / I don't care where / I am alone. It doesn't matter across what streets, into what house / I drag myself, and my shopping basket — / a house that doesn't know I'm there, / like a hospital or barracks. I don't care who sees me...»