My boat throbbed in the drowsy depths,
willows bowed, kissing collarbones,
elbows and rowlocks — oh wait, yes,
all of this might happen to anyone!
Isn’t it all just trivial…a singing.
Isn’t its meaning — the lilac petals on
water, camomile’s sensuous sinking
lip on lip, into starry extinction!
Isn’t its meaning — clasping the sky,
arms embracing mighty Hercules,
isn’t its meaning — for endless lives,
squandering on nightingales your glory!
Лодка колотится в сонной груди,
Ивы навязали, целуют в ключицы,
В локти, в уключины — о погоди,
Это ведь может со всяким случиться!
Этим ведь в песне тешатся все.
Это ведь значит — пепел сиреневый,
Роскошь крошеной ромашки в росе,
Губы и губы на звезды выменивать!
Это ведь значит — обнять небосвод,
Руки сплести вкруг Геракла громадного,
Это ведь значит — века напролет
Ночи на щелканье славок проматывать!
«There are names like stifling flowers / And gazes like a dancing flame… / There are dark sinuous mouths / With deep damp corners. There are women. — Their hair, like a helmet, / Their fan smells deadly and delicate. / They are thirty. — Why, why do you need / My Spartan child’s»
«On the green hills a herd of horses strays; / Their nostrils blow the gold dust from the days. From the high hills to the blue water’s reach / They shake and drop their manes as black as pitch. Over the quiet water their heads strain; / The moon has caught them in a silver rein. Snorting ...»
«Where, my childhood’s home, art thou, / Warm beneath the hillock’s brow? / And my little blue, blue bud, / And the sand where no one trod? / Where, my childhood’s home, art thou? Past the river sings the cock. / There the shepherd grazed his flock / And amid the water’s play / ...»
«O fields of corn, O fields of corn. / An orphan’s grief is mine; / Heavy on my heart lies yesterday, / But in my heart you shine. The fleeting miles whistle like birds / About my horse’s mane, / And the sun is sprinkling lavishly / Her holy healing rain. O land of floods and agony ...»