I don’t know the wisdom others seem to need,
Only little transient things I pour in my verse.
Everything that’s transient contains whole worlds for me,
Full of rainbow colors, shifting, playing, free.
Wise men, do not curse me. What am I to you?
See, I’m nothing but a cloud, a cloud that’s full of fire.
See, I’m nothing but a cloud. Watch me floating by.
And I cry out to dreams... But to you I do not cry.
Я не знаю мудрости, годной для других,
Только мимолётности я влагаю в стих.
В каждой мимолётности вижу я миры,
Полные изменчивой радужной игры.
Не кляните, мудрые. Что вам до меня?
Я ведь только облачко, полное огня.
Я ведь только облачко. Видите: Плыву.
И зову мечтателей… Вас я не зову!
«There, a man burned. / Fet Among the crowds, it’s becoming harder / To act undead, when life is make-believe, / And to relate tragic play of ardor / To all of those who’ve yet to really live. And to inspect your nightmares and aspire / For order in the vortex of the heart, / So tha...»
«I while away my life in stride, / It’s senseless to me and redundant: / Today, I’m soberly — triumphant, / Tomorrow, I will — sing and cry. What if my death is getting nearer? / What if, behind me, stands a man, / Who, reaching with his massive hand, / Will block the image in t...»
«The night, the pharmacy, the street, / The pointless lamppost in the mist. / A quarter century recedes — / There’s no escape. It all persists. You’ll die — and you’ll begin anew, / As in the past, all will repeat: / The icy channel flowing through, / The lamp, the pharmacy, t»
«You were most charming, most loyal, most bright, / Don’t curse me, so cruel and so stern! / Like the song of the gypsies, my train is in flight, / Like the days that will never return... And all that we loved — went by us, went by us... / Our future...»