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!
«Breathing is forbidden, heaven teems / with worms — and not a star to testify — / but God sees, there is music overhead, / the station shivers, the Aonides are singing, / once again, the violins — their air fused — merging / with explosions of the locomotives’ whistles. An enorm...»
«Don't fall, my little star, keep shining, / Keep dropping chilly beams of light. / There is no living heart abiding / Up there beyond the grave-yard site. / / And from you beam you bring us summer / And fill the fields with rye and hay / And with a thrilling wistful clamour / Of cra...»
«Upon the cobbles / of my foot-clobbered soul, / the steps of loonies / twine their grinding rhymes. / Where the towns / are hung / and in the nooses of clouds / the crooked necks of towers / are wrung, / I start to cry / because / by the crossroads / the cops are crucified.»
«Please Listen! / If stars are lit, / it is something / that somebody needs? / Someone wants them / To be and to last, / Even calls them pearls, those specs of spit. / And suffocating / In the blizzards of midday dust, / He bursts in on God, / afraid it's too late to s...»