You may live uncleanly and absurdly:
Bullies’ giggles, rattles in the dust,
Open is your street, and foul overtly:
Laughter of a prostitute, like rust.
Dirty girlfriends, swarming, crazy psychos,
Anger, vice, deep poverty, and filth,
How can there appear in such a cycle
Dreams and inspirations to fulfill?
Still, they’ll come! They always keep arriving!
People’s life conjures creative ways.
Just above the blurry foam, alive now,
Worldwide beauty, built upon its waves.
Ты живёшь безумно и погано,
Улица, доступная для всех, —
Грохот пыльный, хохот хулигана,
Пьяной проститутки ржавый смех.
Копошатся мерзкие подруги, —
Злоба, грязь, порочность, нищета.
Как возникнуть может в этом круге
Вдохновенно-светлая мечта?
Но возникнет! Вечно возникает!
Жизнь народа творчества полна,
И над мутной пеной воздвигает
Красоту всемирную волна.
«No bliss or happiness is needed, / My husband is off to his dear, / And my child is pleased and depleted / As I put him to bed, sitting near. Soon, again, to my room, I’ll depart, / To the Mother of God, I’ll be praying… / To live like a hermit – it’s hard, / But it’s harder...»
«The spring was still mysterious and gentle, / Across the hills, transparent winds would stray. / A lake was glowing blue — as though a temple / Of John the Baptist, which was not man-made. You were then still frightened by our meeting, / I prayed, already, for the second one, — / And ...»
«The city’s gone, the final window gazed, / As if alive, with melancholy, stark… / This seems to me — a strange and foreign place, / It smells of burning and the fields are dark. But once the hesitant crescent, again, / Slashed the curtain of the thunderous cloud: / We watched: A tir...»
«O, there are words that cannot be repeated, / Whoever said them — overspent his due. / The only things that cannot be depleted / Are God’s forgiveness and the heaven’s blue.»