People don’t laugh at funerals,
except maybe in their hearts.
For as long as the speeches are ringing out,
breathe evenly.
And measure against veracity
the tears or the praise,
knowing that justice
is quietly waiting in the comer.
На похоронах не смеются,
разве только в душе.
Покуда раздаются
речи, мерно дыши.
И замеряй на правдивость
слезы или хвалу,
зная, что справедливость
тихо ждет в углу.
«I see, I see the crescent’s bow / Behind thick groves, shine out, / I hear, I hear the knocks below / Of shoeless hooves resound. Don’t welcome sleep, — what, even you? / You can’t forget me yet, / And haven’t grown accustomed to / Your cold and empty bed? At night, do I not ...»
«We paced the house, stricken, / Not waiting for surprises. / They brought me to the sick one, / I couldn’t recognize him. He said then: “Praise the Lord,” — / And pensive again, withdrew: / “It’s time to take that road, / I’ve waited just for you.” You haunt me still so...»
«I came up to the forest of pines, / My path was long, the sun beat down. / Pulling the doorway curtains aside, / He, gray-haired and humble, came out. The seer gazed at me and zealously, / He uttered: “Bride of Christ! / For the prosperous, feel no jealousy, / For your place is up in ...»
«Thus others to the wounded crane / Call, “Kurlee, kurlee!” humbly. / As the autumnal fields remain / At once both, warm and crumbly… Thus, for me, ailing, a call resounds, / The golden wings are beating / Somewhere from the dense low clouds / And from the thickets, pleading: “I...»