Ah, you azure globule,
planet very sad.
You and I, what’s doing?
What’s it all about?
We all squelch through gore
instead of doing more...
Rivers brimmed with love
over you might flow.
Ах ты, шарик голубой,
грустная планета,
что ж мы делаем с тобой,
для чего все это?!
Всё мы топчемся в крови,
а ведь мы могли бы...
Реки, полные любви,
по тебе текли бы.
«The rain cleans the willow dung / Off the meadows with its wet brooms. / Go ahead, wind, spit your clumps of leaves. / I’m a hooligan just like you. I love it when your blue woods, / Like oxen with heavy steps, / Soil the knees of the trunks / With their foliage-wheezing bellies. Her...»
«For Marienhof I’m the last poet of the village. / The wooden bridge is modest in my songs. / I’m attending the farewell night service / Of birches hemorrhaging foliage. The wax candle of flesh / Will burn its last golden flame, / And the moon’s wooden clock / Will wheeze out my t...»
«Since ancient times, a special measure / Has existed for all living things. / If I hadn’t been a poet, I probably would / Have been a thief and a conman. Thin and short, / Always a hero among boys, / How often I came home / With a busted nose. To my frightened mother / I hissed thr...»
«Shine, my star, don’t fall, / Shed your cold rays. / After all, a living heart doesn’t beat / Behind a cemetery fence. You glow with August and wheat / And fill the shadows of fields / With such a tearful trembling / Of herons that never flew away. And, raising my head ever higher,...»