An honest man
should look others straight in the eye.
We don’t know why.
What if the honest man
has watery, bloodshot eyes?
What if the dishonest one
has terrific eyesight?
Somehow, those who served as safe-keepers
in every time and place
learned to judge truthfulness
by firmness of gaze.
Did the spies who protected,
say, Sulla really have the right
to sort dishonest from honest?
And was Tamerlane’s secret service,
for instance, really
made up of moralists?
Everyone who sees has the right
to run their eyes madly up and down
and be judged not by their gaze,
not by scent or sound,
but by word and deed.
Честный человек
должен прямо смотреть в глаза.
Почему — неизвестно.
Может быть, у честного человека
заболели глаза и слезятся?
Может быть, нечестный
обладает прекрасным зрением?
Почему-то в карательных службах
стольких эпох и народов
приучают правдивость и честность
проверять по твердости взгляда.
Неужели охранка,
скажем, Суллы имела право
разбирать нечестных и честных?
Неужели контрразведка,
например, Тамерлана
состояла из моралистов?
Каждый зрячий имеет право
суетливо бегать глазами
и оцениваться не по взгляду,
не по обонянью и слуху,
а по слову и делу.
«"I lost a cameo I used for grooming / On shores of the Nieva, I know not where. / I pity a majestic Roman woman" — / You uttered this to me in near despair. But what's the point, you gorgeous Georgian maiden, / Of shaking divine ashes from the sky? / One fluffy snowflake, its beauty fad...»
«Hellenes were readying for war / Over a gorgeous island Salamin. / Overtaken fully by the foe / From Athens' harbor it was seen. And now the friends and islanders / Fill our ships with their toil. / Englishmen did not love earlier / The sweetness of Europe's soil. O Europe, you, the ne...»
«I'm feeling chilly. The transparent spring / Dresses Petropolis in a verdant down / But, like a jellyfish, Nieva's blue waves / Revulse me slightly and bid me calm down. / Upon the northern shores of this great river / The headlights of the autos head out far / Dragonflies soar and steel...»
«In the Petropolis of shades we will expire / Proserpina reigns above us in her power / With every breath partaking dying air, / Closer to death with every passing hour. / The goddess of the sea, mighty Athena, / Do please take off the giant stone attire. / In the Petropolis of shades we ...»