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.
«One southern night I lay upon a haystack, / My face toward the firmament, / And the lively and harmonious choir / Shone and quavered all around. / / The Earth, mute as in a hazy dream, / Hurtled away into infinity, / And all alone like the first resident of paradise, / I looked nigh...»
«I awoke. Yes, the roof of a coffin — I extend / My arms forcefully and call / For help. Yes, I remember those torments / Before death — yes, it was real! — / And without effort, as if it was a cobweb / I split apart the coffin. / / And I stood up. How bright this winter light / ...»
«The voice of the herd rises from the fields; / In the bushes the robins sing, / And a sweet aroma flows / From the whitened apple-trees of the garden. / / The flowers gaze with tender melancholy, / Innocently pure, like spring, / Shedding fragrant dust, / The seeds of their rosy fru...»
«Mine was the madness he desired, he who had closed his eyes / To the petals of this rose, the sparkles, the dew; / Mine was the madness he desired, he who had wound / Those flowing tresses into a heavy braid. / / Though wicked old age denies all joy, / My lamenting soul, before this dec...»