My fields, my wave-like, foaming fields!
With autumn spinach, brown as if of bricks,
And lettuce, clover, heather and daisy.
How much the eyes can hear and ears can see!
I walk along the side of the river.
The wildflowers shine like sapphire
Leaning beneath the wheats golden frame,
I hear, as in the river splashes elm,
This splash like music gives its gentle sound.
And the blue storm of sea? A burst of sun?
And clouds within the sky, all white like sheep?
The life with its simplicity is deep.
While I am able still to touch your breath,
May it become and stay forever blessed!
And may the ground become the earth in bliss —
The fields, the fields, the life-begetting fields!
Поля мои, волнистые поля:
Кирпичные мониста щавеля
И вереск, и ромашка, и лопух.
Как много слышит глаз и видит слух!
Я прохожу по берегу реки.
Сапфирами лучатся васильки,
В оправе золотой хлебов склонясь,
Я слышу, как в реке плеснулся язь,
И музыкой звучит мне этот плеск.
А моря синий штиль? а солнца блеск?
А небные барашки-облака?
Жизнь простотой своею глубока.
Пока я ощущать могу ее,
Да славится дыхание Твое!
А там землею станет пусть земля…
Поля! Животворящие поля!
«Dis-tances: miles, versts... / We’re dis-severed, dis-persed, / They’ve rendered us silent, terse, / At the far ends of the earth. Distances: tracts, versts... / We’re disjointed, and disbursed, / Displayed, splayed, un-destroyed, / They don’t know we’re... an alloy Of ins...»
«You who loved me with falsity / Of truth — and the truth of lies, / You who loved me — beyond extremity / Of wherever! — Beyond the skies! You who loved me longer / Than Time. — Right hand: wave goodbye! / You love me no longer: / Truth in five words: no lie!»
«She’s in the river-bed, covered in algae / And weeds... she went there to sleep, / Though there’s no peace there, either! / Yet I loved her, / More than forty thousand brothers / Have ever loved yet! / — Hamlet! / She’s in the...»
«What shall I do, a stepchild and blind, / In a world where all have fathers and eyes? / Where to anathemas, as along embankments — / Love flies! Where it’s only a cold, / — When one cries? What shall I do, by rib and by trade, / A singer? A wire! Sunburn! Siberia! / On my delusion...»