Innokenty Annensky
My angst

to M. A. Kuzmin

Let the grass change above this agitated temple
And let my waxed hand in the box be no more known,
It seems among you just my perplexity and longing
Will continue to live. Only my angst alone.

And not for those, alas, who hold me dear and special...
Yes, undeservedly, jealously, ardently...
The strength of those who love — gentle even in torment,
This female tenderness has strength one cannot see.

Why should there ever be perplexities within one?
Love has a constant light, is crystal as it were.
But my love has no love — a frothy horse, it trembles.
It is a poisoned feast — and fraudulent — for her!

Bedecked, wearing a wreath of withering azaleas,
Love is prepared to sing... But ere the first verse sighs
The small children of hers have been gathered and tied up,
Their hands broken... They have been blinded in their eyes.

She is a sexless one — smiling at everybody.
Deceiver-hypocrite, a perverse taste in bloom.
And throughout all the day she rocks the empty cradles;
The sweetest Jesus is her icon in the room.

O! I invented her and still she is a vision.
And I do not love her... still she is always near
Perplexed, ever perplexed — anxiety and longing...
Always she is my angst, forever gay and here.

Translated by Vladimir Markov and Merrill Sparks