Innokenty Annensky
Bronze poet

Clouds that whiten in a dome of blue
and twisted trees sharply delineated,
the dust aglow, each shadow elongated
and phantoms that pass through the heart anew.

Why was the tale so brief? I cannot say.
Was there a second half I didn’t know?
In pale skies the clouds dissolve away
and night roams through the blackened tree below.

That man, the bench he sits on in the dusk
are growing heavier and more grotesque...
Don’t move! For as carnations start to shine

and leafy bushes melt and intertwine,
the poet shakes away his uniform
of tired bronze and prings on the lawn.

Translated by Peter Oram