Speak to no one. Do not drink wine.
Leave home behind. Leave brother, wife.
From people depart. Your soul must come
To feel — the past is forever gone.
What's past one must unlove. Then time
Will come to lose love for the wild,
Indifferent ever more: the day after,
From week to week, year in and year out.
And gradually your hopes expire.
Darkness swallows all. A new life
You will find then, clear and reborn:
The wooden cross, the crown of thorns.
Ни с кем не говори. Не пей вина.
Оставь свой дом. Оставь жену и брата.
Оставь людей. Твоя душа должна
Почувствовать — к былому нет возврата.
Былое надо разлюбить. Потом
Настанет время разлюбить природу,
И быть всё безразличней, — день за днём,
Неделю за неделей, год от году.
И медленно умрут твои мечты.
И будет тьма кругом. И в жизни новой
Отчётливо тогда увидишь ты
Крест деревянный и венок терновый.
«Winter nears. Once more / the bear’s secret retreat / will vanish under mud’s floor, / to a child’s fretful grief. Huts will wake in the water, / reflecting paths of smoke, / circled by autumn’s tremor / lovers meet by the fire to talk. Denizens of the harsh North / whose roo...»
«Like a brazier’s bronze cinders, / the sleepy garden’s beetles flowing. / Level with me, and my candle, / a flowering world is hanging. As if into unprecedented faith, / I cross into this night, / where the poplar’s beaten grey / veils the moon’s rim from sight. Where the pond...»
«Like with a bronze ash of the braziers / Spills with the beetles sleepy park. / With me and candle mine at grade with / Are hanging blossomed worlds in fact. And like in an unprecedented / Faith am I passing at this night, / Where poplar that’s dilapidated / Has veiled a lunar path al...»
«Ice-chips plucked whole from the smoke, / the past week’s stars all frozen in flight, / Head over heels the skater’s club goes, / clinking its rink with the peal of night. Step slow, slower, slow-er, skater, / pride carving its trace as you race by. / each turn’s a constellation cut...»