Theyre «red» today, and theyre «white» tomorrow —
Ah, no tapestry! No flowers, this!
Tiresome to me to the point of nausea,
Small people hideous and turned to beasts.
Lowly today and tomorrow lowly,
Today the thieves and tomorrow too.
Vile scoundrels now and vile scoundrels formerly,
Will provoke any revolt for you.
Ideas foolish, dreams, all in vanity,
That in their theory is way to god.
They all are colorless in their entity —
Today theyre «white» and tomorrow «red»!
Сегодня «красные», а завтра «белые» —
Ах, не материи! ах, не цветы!
Людишки гнусные и озверелые,
Мне надоевшие до тошноты.
Сегодня пошлые и завтра пошлые,
Сегодня жулики и завтра те ж,
Они, бывалые, пройдохи дошлые,
Вам спровоцируют любой мятеж.
Идеи вздорные, мечты напрасные,
Что в «их» теориях — путь к Божеству?
Сегодня «белые», а завтра «красные» —
Они бесцветные по существу.
«Where can I look, where can I go, / to find that almost Alpine snow, / all sacrificed so life can grow, / all turned by May to splash and flow, / to breath of dandelion and rose, / to mighty wave or shining billow — / into that foolish question posed / by François Villon long ago?»
«Led by what is shining, / the sleepwalker looks into a blank, / black is the death beneath him / and there’s no knowing / where the moon’s thin ledge / will slide him. The innocent are executed / in a universal night — / look the other way. / Look into cold nothing / and let...»
«Say a few more words to me, / don’t sleep before the dawn. / I need you to feel close to me. / My journey’s almost done. May the last poem I have made / take on new life through your sweet lisp, / your quiet wrestle with sounds / you cannot get your tongue round.»
«I love a despairing peace: / chrysanthemum blossoms in fall, / lights adrift in a river of mist, / a sunset that has turned pale, / nameless graves, all the clichés / of a Symbolist "wordless romance" — / what Annensky loved with such greed / and Gumilyov couldn’t stand.»