The dull sounds of gas flares
Above the dead brightness of heads,
The tedium’s black contagion
From deserted tables,
And there, among the sallow-faced,
Harbouring the anguish of the habit,
Trying to solve on the discoloured pages
The odious puzzle of being.
Тупые звуки вспышек газа
Над мёртвой яркостью голов,
И скуки чёрная зараза
От покидаемых столов,
И там, среди зеленолицых,
Тоску привычки затая,
Решать на выцветших страницах
Постылый ребус бытия.
«To G. Chulkov I wander more and more about the city. / More and more see Death. And I smile / A reasonable smile. Well, what of that? / So I would have it. It is my nature thus to know / That death will come to me too, in its time. I walked along the road beside the races. / The golden d...»
«With this evening lake I hold discourse in the high / Harmony of song. In the slender thicket / Of high pines, from ramparts of sand, / From among graves and tombs where icon-lamps / Shine, and dusk is a smoky blue-gray, I send her loving songs. / She does not see me, nor need she. / Li...»
«I do not like the empty vocabulary / Of love, its shabby phrases — “You’re mine,” “Yours,” / “I love you,” or “I’m yours forever.” / I do not like slavery. With a free glance / I look into a lovely woman’s eye, / And say, “Tonight, yes. But tomorrow / Is a new a...»
«A blizzard sweeps the streets, / Coiling and staggering. / Someone gives me a hand, / Someone smiles at me, Leads me until I see a deep, / Enclosed by somber granite, / And this deep flows and sings, / And calls like an accursed spirit. I draw near, I withdraw, / I stand stock-still,...»