Her tears affected none —
the tears she had not shed.
Against an ostrich fan
her pallid cheek she laid.
Admirers in the stalls
screwed up a handkerchief:
where crimson curtain palls
her hands brought white relief.
They knew how warm the jewel in
her imitation ring
camellia's endless cool in
her white hands wintering.
But how resigned and fleeting
the handkerchief slipped down
how calm the heart was beating
oblivious of the pain.
People forgave it as
the curtain fell afar:
pale yellow rose bouquets
were piled backstage for her.
Holding the roses, scarce
a petal could she see:
down her cheeks ran the tears
dry tears of mastery.
Никто слезам ее не верил,
и слез она не пролила.
На страусовый белый веер
она щекою прилегла.
Ее поклонники в партере
смотрели, комкая платки,
как на малиновой портьере
белели две ее руки.
Они-то знали жар каменьев
в ее притворных перстеньках
и вечный холодок камелий,
зимующий в ее руках.
Но так смертельно и покорно
платочек выпадал из рук,
и сердце билось так покойно,
не замечая этих мук.
Ему прощали люди это,
и падал занавес вдали,
и бледно-желтых роз букеты
в ее уборную несли.
Она держала эти розы
и различала их едва,
а по щекам катились слезы,
сухие слезы мастерства.
«Breasts beneath kisses, as though under a tap! / Summer’s stream won’t run for ever. / We can’t pump out the accordion’s roar / night after night, in a dusty fever. I’ve heard of age. Terrible prophecies! / No wave will lift its hands to the stars. / They say — who believes? N...»
«How lovely those journeys into quiet! / Boundless the steppe, like a seascape, / ants rustle, and the feather-grass sighs, / mosquitoes go whining through space. The hayricks line up with the clouds, / volcano after volcano, they fade. / Grown silent, damp, the boundless steppe, / you d...»
«Then summer said goodbye / to the station. Lifting its cap, / the thunder took souvenirs, / hundreds of shots on the fly. The lilac went black. And that / instant, gathering whole armfuls / of lightning, the far clearing lit / the white station-master’s shack. And when the whole roof...»
«Blurred by a lilac heat, the meadows: / in the wood, cathedral shadows swirled. / What on earth was left for them to kiss? So / like wax, soft in the fingers, theirs, the world. There’s a dream — you do not sleep, you only / dream you long for sleep: someone’s dozing, / two black su...»