Hatred! A special added taste to the soup.
The soup’s just soup. Simple stock really,
but with a pinch of salt or pepper
from the heart that hates in vain.
Hatred makes the bed,
hatred corrects the notebook,
sweeps the floor and wipes away the dust:
and never lets you out of its sight.
Seeing nothing. Hating.
Hearing nothing. Hating.
Hatred trembles when it sees you.
You can praise it or curse it.
And then it weeps on the quiet,
and hurriedly hides its eyes from you,
and lies in the bed beside you,
fixing a long gaze on the ceiling.
Ненависть! Особый привкус в супе.
Суп — как суп. Простой бульон по сути,
но с щепоткой соли или перцу —
даром ненавидящего сердца.
Ненависть кровати застилает,
ненависть тетради проверяет,
подметает пол и пыль стирает:
из виду никак вас не теряет.
Ничего не видя. Ненавидя.
Ничего не слыша. Ненавидя.
Вздрагивает ненависть при виде
вашем. Хвалите или язвите.
А потом она тихонько плачет,
и глаза от вас поспешно прячет,
и лежит в постели с вами рядом, в
потолок уставясь долгим взглядом.
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«Today, as I see, you're especially wistful, my love. / Your hands are especially slim / while embracing your knees. / O, listen! In far away, far away lands, / by lake Chad / there wanders a gorgeous giraffe. His skin in embroidered with a fairy miraculous weave. / Who'd dare to come an...»
«Lather of lassitude round the lips again. / Ploughing the waves there furiously swims the Bull. / Snorting, not fond of rowing, a lady's man. / Hard is the cargo, he's labouring to the full. Time and again there jumps up a dolphin's wheel / Or a sea urchin gives them a thorny peck. / Soft...»