There he comes up to soda water booth
As if it were a real clockwork toy,
An arrogant sophisticated boy,
A favourite of slot machines, like youth.
Then, the conceited fantasist first-class,
Inserts a coin into the slot, and putting
His cheek to tender splashes softly shooting,
The fountain he catches with the glass.
Oh, how I wish I had his self-esteem
And simple secrecy of familiarity!
No, I do not deserve such act of charity;
Let it get spilled beside me in a stream.
Meanwhile the kid, concerned with marvel,
Carries the glass of seven facets in his palm,
And the reflection falls upon the gravel,
And badly hurts, without meaning harm.
A bit afraid, I join the game at last,
And with a blissful feeling, seeing the risk
I yield to the temptation of the disk,
My heart stops beating, and I take the glass.
Then, livening up from silver chains, a pool
Comes into being, emerging sweet and salty,
Filled with the breath of unfamiliar quality
And multitude of bubbles, fresh and cool.
The rainbows which came out, all the better,
Transfix the sky in momentary sweetness,
And now with tickling, gentle and solicitous,
The tongue tries all the seven tastes of spectre.
The soul of the machine, so dark and drab,
Looks in a kindly outmoded fashion, and
Like peasant woman, cool-headed and dispassionate,
Might give a wanderer to drink from wooden cup.
Вот к будке с газированной водой,
всех автоматов баловень надменный,
таинственный ребенок современный
подходит, как к игрушке заводной.
Затем, самонадеянный фантаст,
монету влажную он опускает в щелку,
и, нежным брызгам подставляя щеку,
стаканом ловит розовый фонтан.
О, мне б его уверенность на миг
и фамильярность с тайною простою!
Но нет, я этой милости не стою,
пускай прольется мимо рук моих.
А мальчуган, причастный чудесам,
несет в ладони семь стеклянных граней,
и отблеск их летит на красный гравий
и больно ударяет по глазам.
Робея, я сама вхожу в игру
и поддаюсь с блаженным чувством риска
соблазну металлического диска,
и замираю, и стакан беру.
Воспрянув из серебряных оков,
родится омут сладкий и соленый,
неведомым дыханьем населенный
и свежей толчеею пузырьков.
Все радуги, возникшие из них,
пронзают небо в сладости короткой,
и вот уже, разнеженный щекоткой,
семь вкусов спектра пробует язык.
И автомата темная душа
взирает с добротою старомодной,
словно крестьянка, что рукой холодной
даст путнику напиться из ковша.
«I have come to you with greetings, / To say that the sun has risen / And that it is quivering on the leaves / With its fiery light; / / To say that the forest has woken — / Everything has woken, every branch, / Every bird has stirred, / Full of springtime thirst; To say that I ha...»
«I’ll go along a familiar path to meet them, / The skies that glow with such a delicate amber sunset — / Imperishable as paradise. / Far off, the fading edge of the world has curled away; / The evening coolness breathes and doesn’t breathe, / And the ripening ears barely sway. / No,...»
«One southern night I lay upon a haystack, / My face toward the firmament, / And the lively and harmonious choir / Shone and quavered all around. / / The Earth, mute as in a hazy dream, / Hurtled away into infinity, / And all alone like the first resident of paradise, / I looked nigh...»
«I awoke. Yes, the roof of a coffin — I extend / My arms forcefully and call / For help. Yes, I remember those torments / Before death — yes, it was real! — / And without effort, as if it was a cobweb / I split apart the coffin. / / And I stood up. How bright this winter light / ...»