The hum of bees had hardly lapsed into silence,
When the whining mosquito’s sound drew near...
O my heart, for how many delusions have you not
Forgiven the ended day’s disquieting emptiness?
I have need of melted snow under the
Yellowness of fire that is shining wearily
Through the misted glass; and may the lock of
Hair so near me, so near me, tremble uncurled...
I need hazy clouds from a darkened summit,
Wheeling of hazy clouds in which is nothing of
The past, half-closed eyes and music of a dream,
And music of a dream that still knows no word...
O give me only an instant, but in life, not in sleep,
So that I might become fire, or be consumed in fire
Едва пчелиное гуденье замолчало,
Уж ноющий комар приблизился, звеня…
Каких обманов ты, о сердце, не прощало
Тревожной пустоте оконченного дня?
Мне нужен талый снег под желтизной огня,
Сквозь потное стекло светящего устало,
И чтобы прядь волос так близко от меня,
Так близко от меня, развившись, трепетала.
Мне надо дымных туч с померкшей высоты,
Круженья дымных туч, в которых нет былого,
Полузакрытых глаз и музыки мечты,
И музыки мечты, еще не знавшей слова…
О, дай мне только миг, но в жизни, не во сне,
Чтоб мог я стать огнем или сгореть в огне!
«How did they kill my grandmother? / I’ll tell you how they killed her. / On morning a tank rolled up to / a building where / one hundred and fifty Jews of our town who, / weightless / from a year’s starvation, / and white / with the knowledge of death, / were gatheredholding th...»
«The gentleman swayed and dozed in his cabin, swaying / to the right, to the left, and back again. / He swayed alone, restless. / He swayed away from life and what he’d lived. / My friend, you are on your way as well, / but where will we be bound tomorrow? / Believe me: these feeble fac...»
«What use are words and what’s a pen, / When on my heart this rock is weighing, / When like a convict’s ball and chain / Another’s burden I’m conveying? / I used to be a city-boy, / And life for me was full of pleasure, / But now in deserts without joy / The graves I dig are all...»
«Today I was watching as, heavy, your tears they were tumbling, / Upon the black chiffon for ages they glistened and lay, / And how I then wanted to tell you, in spite of my mumbling, / About the white roses that blossom on bush’s green sway. I know that you cannot but beautifully weep on yo...»