With blinding brilliance
The evening dawns at seven.
From streets toward awnings
Darkness marches apace.
People – they are manikins;
Only lust and sadness lead
Them across the universe
Feeling their way by touch.
The heart under the palm
Betrays with its shuddering
Tension of chase and escape,
Glimmers of fright and flight.
Feelings take to liberty
And freedom with ill-ease,
Tearing just like a horse
At the bit of its mouthpiece.
Ослепляя блеском,
Вечерело в семь.
С улиц к занавескам
Подступала темь.
Люди — манекены,
Только страсть с тоской
Водит по Вселенной
Шарящей рукой.
Сердце под ладонью
Дрожью выдает
Бегство и погоню,
Трепет и полет.
Чувству на свободе —
Вольно налегке,
Точно рвет поводья
Лошадь в мундштуке.
«So you took me for some sort of wifey lightweight; / You’d wend on your own way while I’d weep and I’d plead, / Then hurl myself, hectic-frenetic, prostrate, / Under the hoofs of your dashing bay steed. Or I’d go to a psychic and ask her advice, / How to conjure a new lover boy for ...»
«In any polemic with inhuman fate / You prattle in vain, you needlessly prate, / For all is mirage and delusion. But this evening / Where azurest blues undulate / Is all mine, / And in no way illusion. And the sky. Through the twigs it shows red, / While its edges are fine-tinged in pea...»
«Now I’ve learned simply and wisely to live, / To look at the sky and to pray unto God, / To wear down the worries and old hurts forgive, / In a wander each evening on a long restless plod. Where burdocks are rustling in woodsy ravines, / And yellow-red berries on rowans droop down, / I ...»
«Nel mezzo del cammin di nostra vita / [Midway on our journey through life] I, I, I. What a weird, inexplicable word! / Is that really me/I, this odd guy? / Could my mama have loved this strange bird, / Going gray, sallow-grim, looking sly, / With a know-it-all gleam in one eye? Is that I...»