The heart of another (yours, reader?
Yours, dreamer?
Yours, stranger?)
Beats in my breast,
Growing heavier, more unrhythmical,
Night and day and even in sleep,
Repeating over and over —
Something I don’t understand.
On the wall, the floor, the window —
Silvery moonlight flecks;
And the ringing nightingale song
Of full moon delirium,
Swarthy mugs in the mirrors,
And enchanting, delicate faces —
Blur in the trembling of moon,
Though these are my own reflection,
None resemble me,
But beyond, in the mirrors, like a backdrop,
Terror scatters in sparks.
— Help me! Help!
Far away on the Island of Crete
A labyrinth, a bloodthirsty Minotaur,
And Ariadne’s guiding thread.
There are other threads too —
They will lead you to me —
Seek, oh seek them out!
Сердце чужое (ваше, читатель?
Ваше, мечтатель?
Ваше, прохожий?)
Бьется в груди моей
Всё разностопнее, всё тяжелей
Ночью, и днем, и даже во сне,
Повторяя одно и то же,
Непонятное мне.
На стене, на полу, на окне —
Серебристолунные блики,
И звенит соловьиное пение
Полнолунного наваждения.
В зеркалах черномазые рожи
И прелестные нежные лики —
Расплываются в лунной дрожи,
Хоть они и мое отраженье,
Все они на меня не похожи,
А за ними, как фон, в зеркалах
Рассыпается искрами страх.
— Помогите мне! Помогите!
Далеко на острове Крите
Лабиринт, Минотавр кровожадный
И ведущая нить Ариадны.
Но найдутся другие нити,
Те, что вас приведут ко мне, —
Отыщите их, отыщите!
«I know the truth! All other truths - out of my sight! / There is no cause for us to hold these fights and battles! / Just take a look: there’s evening, look: there’s night. / Why do we fight — o poets, lovers, and commanders? The grass is dewy and the wind has settled down, / And soon...»
«Two suns are cooling down, — God, I protest! — / One — in the sky, the other — in my chest. How these two suns — could my conscience forget? — / How these two suns were driving me mad! Both cooling now, — their rays won’t hurt your eyes! / The one that burned the hottest »
«The gypsy passion of parting! / Just met — and rushing to part! / I dropped my head in my hands and started / To think, staring into the dark: From our letters, no one could gather / Any insight to understand more / How disloyal we were, or rather, — / How true to ourselves we were.»
«No one was left at a loss!1 / I’m happy we’ve come to part. / I’m kissing you now — across / The gap of a thousand yards. We’re not equal — I understand. / I’m calm — for the first time. / A young Derzhavin,2 you can’t / Accept my undisciplined rhyme. I christen you...»