Youre in no way like other women at all:
You have laughter controlled and expressive,
You wear dresses measured and fashionably long
And you slip out from my embraces.
You do not cut your hair to look upscale,
Deepen brows or wear make up,
You have Smirnoff, but also a nightingale
Who in nature becomes his replacement,
You are able to see in the sugar the salt,
And in just uttered word, a full sentence.
In Akhmatova you value pain without halt
And in Gumilev - charm and cadence.
For you, connoisseur of all kinds of verse,
Sharpness of Sologubov means something,
And that you and Blok never did kiss
You are grieving sixth summer and counting.
And in your eyes, as they are now getting well —
Ocean breeze and a rye field in season.
Youre in no way like other women at all,
And youve become my wife for that reason.
Ты совсем не похожа на женщин других:
У тебя в меру длинные платья,
У тебя выразительный, сдержанный стих
И выскальзыванье из объятья.
Ты не красишь лица, не сгущаешь бровей
И волос не стрижешь в жертву моде.
Для тебя есть Смирнов, но и есть соловей,
Кто его заменяет в природе.
Ты способна и в сахаре выискать «соль»,
Фразу — в только намекнутом слове...
Ты в Ахматовой ценишь бессменную боль,
Стилистический шарм в Гумилеве.
Для тебя, для гурманки стиха, острота
Сологубовского триолета,
И, что Блока не поцеловала в уста,
Ты шестое печалишься лето.
А в глазах оздоравливающих твоих —
Ветер с моря и поле ржаное.
Ты совсем не похожа на женщин других,
Потому мне и стала женою.
«Snowing on, snowing on. / On a windowsill, the flower / Of geranium's reaching out for / Starlets of the snow beyond. Snowing on and all’s in chaos, / All's engaged into a twirl: / Wooden footsteps of back stairs / And a snowbound crossroad turn. Snowing on, snowing on. / Like inst...»
«Beneath the willow wound round with ivy / we take cover from the worst / of the storm, with a greatcoat round / our shoulders and my hands around your waist. I’ve got it wrong. That isn’t ivy / entwined in the bushes round / the wood, but hops. You intoxicate me! / Let’s spread th...»
«Dear, I ventured out of the house late this evening, merely / for a breath of fresh air from the ocean not far away. / The sun was smoldering low like a Chinese fan in a gallery / and a cloud reared up its huge lid like a Steinway. A quarter century back you craved curry and dates from Sen...»
«Falling snow leaves the world outnumbered. / At such times, the Pinkertons lose their mind, / and you catch yourself wherever you’ve wandered / by the prints that you've left behind. / Don’t expect a reward, this will not get you far; / the precinct’s din is reduced to naught. / ...»