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.
«Waving a bough full of fragrance, / In the dark, with pure good to sup, / The water the storm had made giddy / Went running from cup to cup. From chalice to chalice rolling, / It slid along two and hung, / One drop of agate, within them. / Shining and shy it clung, Over the meadowsweet...»
«I should have seen the sign: “Fresh paint”, / But useless to advise / The careless soul, and memory's stained / With cheeks, calves, hands, lips, eyes. More than all failure, all success, / I loved you, for your skill / In whitening the yellowed world / As white cosmetics will. Lis...»
«To fly off, a ripe pear in a storm. / With one leaf clinging on as it must. / Mad devotion! It quitted the branch! / It will choke with its throat full of dust! A ripe pear, more aslant than the wind. / What devotion! “You'll bray me? You're brash!" / Look! In beauty the thunder-spent s...»
«9 The piano, aquiver, will lick the foam from its lips. / The frenzy will wrench you, fell you, and you, undone. / Will whisper: “Darling!" “No," I shall cry, “what’s this? / In the presence of music!" Of nearness there is none Like twilight’s, with the chords tossed into the firep...»