Tuxedoed, attired immaculately, the high-society gentlemen
Stupefying their faces, brought themselves into a room,
I gave a forced smile, sarcastically ash and darkness remembering:
A new poetic motif unexpectedly breaking the gloom.
Every line — a slap on the cheek. My voice — torture, atrocity.
Rhymes come together happily. Tongue shows the assonance.
I despise you fiercely, O all you dim luminosities,
And, while despising, I count on global resonance!
With light youre fogged over evilly, O the luminous audience!
Hidden from you, undeserving ones, is futures horizon youve sought.
In Severyanins time, O all you dim luminosities,
It should be known that since Pushkin came both Blok and Balmont!
В смокингах, в шик опроборенные, великосветские олухи
В княжьей гостиной наструнились, лица свои оглупив;
Я улыбнулся натянуто, вспомнив сарказмно о порохе.
Скуку взорвал неожиданно нео-поэзный мотив.
Каждая строчка — пощечина. Голос мой — сплошь издевательство.
Рифмы слагаются в кукиши. Кажет язык ассонанс.
Я презираю вас пламенно, тусклые Ваши Сиятельства,
И, презирая, рассчитываю на мировой резонанс!
Блесткая аудитория, блеском ты зло отуманена!
Скрыт от тебя, недостойная, будущего горизонт!
Тусклые Ваши Сиятельства! Во времена Северянина
Следует знать, что за Пушкиным были и Блок, и Бальмонт!
«Tender-grey the day was, grey as sorrow, and / Pallid grew the evening, like a woman's hand. In the house at evening they had hid their hearts, / Faint with tender sorrow, — grief that ne'er departs. Hands were clasped together, eyes forebore to meet, / Unto glistening shoulders laughing l...»
«Lads and lasses gathering, / Willow-boughs and tapers bring, / That they homeward bear. Warmly do the flamelets glow, / Wayfarers cross them as they go; / Spring-tide scents the air. Little breeze from far away, / Rain, O rain, with tiny spray, / Quench ye not the flame. For Palm Sund...»
«Ye lists and catalogues still haunt my brain; / Before me I behold you, face on face, / Near me afresh on this unpeopled plain. Your secrets long ago I held in chase! / By lamp-light o'er the catalogue I bent, / To probe for books that scarce had left a trace; To track down names; by sylla...»
«At night, as was our wont, we sought the café. Near, / Paris aglow and drunken in its rapture swayed. / I gaze upon your face; I strive from year to year / To pierce the veil and seek the scars new wounds have made. And like a rugged sailor you to me appear, / Who in those goodly times Mag...»