In the cold season, in a locality accustomed to heat more than
to cold, to horizontality more than to a mountain,
a child was born in a cave in order to save the world;
it blew as only in deserts in winter it blows, athwart.
To Him, all things seemed enormous: His mother’s breast, the steam
out of the ox’s nostrils, Caspar, Balthazar, Melchior — the team
of Magi, their presents heaped by the door, ajar.
He was but a dot, and a dot was the star.
Keenly, without blinking, through pallid, stray
clouds, upon the child in the manger, from far away —
from the depth of the universe, from its opposite end — the star
was looking into the cave. And that was the Father’s stare.
В холодную пору в местности, привычной скорее к жаре,
чем к холоду, к плоской поверхности более, чем к горе,
Младенец родился в пещере, чтоб мир спасти;
мело, как только в пустыне может зимой мести.
Ему все казалось огромным: грудь матери, желтый пар
из воловьих ноздрей, волхвы Балтазар, Гаспар,
Мельхиор; их подарки, втащенные сюда.
Он был всего лишь точкой. И точкой была звезда.
Внимательно, не мигая, сквозь редкие облака,
на лежащего в яслях ребенка издалека,
из глубины Вселенной, с другого ее конца,
звезда смотрела в пещеру. И это был взгляд Отца.
«Poor naked wretches, whereso'er you are, / That bide the pelting of this pitiless storm... / King Lear Oh what a storm! It's like insane, / The wicked blizzard wails and rages, / The clouds rush with pouring rain / The wind now fades, now wails and surges. / / Oh what a fright! On su...»
«Above the forest, field and meadow, / Above the land and water flow / So fresh, congenial and mellow, / You turn up everywhere I go. / / Your waist under the summer cloud, / Your waist, wrapped up in fur, I praise, / I sing and laud it out loud, / Enveloped in poetic haze. / ...»
«Run-down and worn from daily rambles / I will forsake the bustling whims / To bring to mind the sores of troubles / And stir the former, bygone dreams... / / If only I could breathe instilling / The joy of spring into her soul! / Oh no, I do not aim at killing / Her childish i...»
«Let the dawn keep shining out, / Let the warbler sing at night, / How I wish I was allowed / To embrace and hold you tight! / / Our boat will float with blessing / In the canes with rustling leaves, / You will cling to me, caressing, / Heated passion on your lips. / / Sing...»