I imagine everything wrapped in a beatific mist:
Statues, arches, gardens, flowerbeds.
The dark waves of the lovely river...
Once the memories start to flow,
it means ... But perhaps all this is nonsense.
Like a wild beast from its lair, crouching,
Sick, I crawl into the cold of Paris...
"Poor Folk."1 Oh, how tautologous!
Who said? Was it I perhaps...
___
1. The title of Dostoevsky's first novel, a poignant depiction of Russian poverty in St. Petersburg.
Все представляю в блаженном тумане я:
Статуи, арки, сады, цветники.
Темные волны прекрасной реки...
Раз начинаются воспоминания,
Значит... А может быть, все пустяки.
...Вот вылезаю, как зверь, из берлоги я,
В холод Парижа, сутулый, больной...
«Бедные люди» — пример тавтологии,
Кем это сказано? Может быть, мной.
«Cool Water gurgles in the river / and the mountains’ shadow lies on the fields / and light fades in the sky. And birds / are already flying in dreams. / And the yardman with the black moustache / stands all night by the gate / and under his dirty hat he scratches / the back of his he...»
«My talent is pitiful, my voice not loud, / but I am living; somewhere in the world / someone looks kindly on my life; far off / a distant fellow-man will read my words / and find my being; and, who knows, my soul / will raise an echo in his soul, and I / who found a friend in my own time...»
«This is how hunger begins: / first you wake in good cheer, / then weakness begins, / and then boredom, / and then comes the losss / of the power of swift reason / and then comes calm — / and then the horror.»
«Here’s the rain crashing down, / time has stopped. / The clocks go on helplessly knocking. / Grow, grass, you don’t need time. / Speak, Holy Spirit, you don’t need words.»