«Did you love anything in this wide universe?»
«Weil, of course I did! Why do you make such a jest?»,
«What?» «O, wait, let me think! There were perfume and flowers,
Also mirrors... and... I have forgotten the rest.»
— В этом мире любила ли что-нибудь ты?..
— Ты должно быть смеешься! Конечно любила.
— Что? — Постой. Дай подумать! Духи, и цветы,
И еще зеркала… Остальное забыла.
«Each of your verses is a boil of poison / Like a life that has been burned by sin. / I breathe your verses although I should not, / It’s forbidden to breathe them in. You are a mad poor little boy / Who brought a farewell noise of bells / From some white funeral to spoil / The banquet...»
«How I want to breathe into my verse / All of this world, that changes its countenance: / The ungraspable movement of grass, / The momentary and vague magnificence / Of trees, the itchy and winged / Dry sand, chirping like birds. All this world is beautiful and humpbacked, / Like a tree ...»
«The table they turned toward the light. / I lay head-first like meat on scales. / My soul throbbed on a thread, / I saw myself from outside: / I was balanced without make-weights / By one greasy weight from the bazaar. / That occurred / At the center of a snow shield, / Pock-marked a...»
«When nature and vocabulary start a quarrel / And word strives hard to separate itself from world, / As a mask from a face, a colour from a silhouette, / Am I a beggar or a Tsar? A scythe or mower? But to my world I did not give the names: / Adam cut reed, and I make baskets. / The scythe,...»