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.
«The sailors near the port / shouted in chorus, demanding wine, / and over Stambul and over the Bosphorus / the full moon shone. Tonight they will hurl an unfaithful wife / to the bottom of the bay, / a wife who was too beautiful / and looked like the moon. She loved her daydreams, / ...»
«Describing circle after circle, / The wheeling kite looks down upon / A dream-like, empty meadow. A mother / Grieves in the cabin for her son: / “Here, suck this breast, here, take this bread. / Grow up, be humble, trust in God.” The ages pass, endless war rages, / Revolt flares, vi...»
«Over the empty fields a black kite hovers, / And circle after circle smoothly weaves. / In the poor hut, over her son in the cradle / A mother grieves: / “There, suck my brest: there grow and take our bread, / And learn to bear your cross and bow your head.” Time passes. War returns. ...»
«1. Black night. / White snow. / The wind, the wind! / Impossible to stay on your feet. / The wind, the wind! / Blowing across God’s world! The wind swirls round / The clean, white snow. / Under the snow — there’s ice. / It’s sl...»