Sleep on a Summer’s Night
(Five Verses)
3
He simply darts about in rags with a pianist
With oblique detours falling down his shoulders.
The basket and crumbled man drag on miserably
And the grand piano with raised lid vegetates.
Along the buildings he hangs out with a pack
Of rag pickers and finding a treasure in the trash heap,
A storm hangs up his cloud above the brickworks
Like coveralls on a clothes hanger in a summer closet.
And the thunderstorm stretches out from
A military map alongside a water flask,
To the grand piano, with the usual heavy humidity
Towering over the stifling summer capital.
And when it arrives fully inconspicuous,
Dying of thirst, the thunderstorm with four
Leaps throws itself against the cement barrels,
Shaking boughs from the roar of its downpour.
Сон в летнюю ночь
Пять стихотворений
3
Пианисту понятно шнырянье ветошниц
С косыми крюками обвалов в плечах.
Одно прозябанье корзины и крошки
И крышки раскрытых роялей влачат.
По стройкам таскавшись с толпою тряпичниц
И клад этот где-то на свалках сыскав,
Он вешает облако бури кирпичной,
Как робу на вешалку на лето в шкаф.
И тянется, как за походною флягой,
Военную карту грозы расстелив,
К роялю, обычно обильному влагой
Огромного душного лета столиц.
Когда, подоспевши совсем незаметно,
Сгорая от жажды, гроза четырьмя
Прыжками бросается к бочкам с цементом,
Дрожащими лапами ливня гремя.
«He flaunts by a lot of bright rings on his hand — / The symbols of girls’ hearts subdued by his brand. / / There the diamond exults, and the opal there dreams, / And crimson of the ruby so whimsically gleams. Yet on the insipid hand there is no my ring, / To no one ever I will give ...»
«You thought I was that type: / That you could forget me, / And that I'd plead and weep / And throw myself under the hooves of a bay mare, Or that I'd ask the sorcerers / For some magic potion made from roots and send you a terrible gift: / My precious perfumed handkerchief. Damn you! I w...»
«Under a dark veil she wrung her hands... / "What makes you grieve like this?" / I have made my lover drunk / With a bitter sadness. I’ll never forget it. He left, reeling, / His mouth twisted, desolate... / I ran downstairs, ran into the courtyard, / Managed to catch him opening the g...»
«I — am your voice, the warmth of your breath, / I — am the reflection of your face, / The futile trembling of futile wings, / I am with you to the end, in any case. That’s why you so fervently love / Me in my weakness and in my sin; / That’s why you impulsively gave / Me the bes...»