I wish I could love the clouds at
Daybreak... but their haze is bitter
To me: my bondage then weighs so heavily on
Me, I remember so much that I was young once.
I wish I could love their evening, when
Reddening there the rays are extinguished,
But of the sacrifice of their rosy bodies
I dream only of the ash in the night.
I love only night and the flowers
In the crystal vase, where fires break
Up-because they die in the crystal
As the consolation of a dream...
Because the flowers-are you.
Я хотел бы любить облака
На заре… Но мне горек их дым:
Так неволя тогда мне тяжка,
Так я помню, что был молодым.
Я любить бы их вечер хотел,
Когда, рдея, там гаснут лучи,
Но от жертвы их розовых тел
Только пепел мне снится в ночи.
Я люблю только ночь и цветы
В хрустале, где дробятся огни,
Потому что утехой мечты
В хрустале умирают они…
Потому что — цветы это ты.
«The naked staghorn rising in the woods / may seem a dead tree. / When a heart of darkness bares itself in words / they scream: he's mad.»
«A bird who wants to go higher / flies into the blue. / A lady who wants to go higher / wears a high-heeled shoe. / When I don't have any shoes / I go to the market and buy some. / Someone who's missing a nose / can go get a false one. / When a nation discovers it has no soul, / it ...»
«I see right through you, Numbers. / I see you dressed in animals, their skins, / coolly propped against uprooted oaks. / You offer us a gift: unity between the snaky movement / of the backbone of the universe and Libra dancing / overhead. You help us to see centuries as a flash / of laug...»
«I don't need much! / A crust of bread, / a cup of milk, / the sky above / and these clouds!»