3
(Dream of Razin)
And Razin dreams a dream:
Like a cry of a heron of the swamp.
And Razin dreams a ringing:
Like silver droplets drop.
And Razin dreams of the bottom:
With flowers, like a kerchief, covered.
And he dreams of one face —
Forgotten, with black brows.
He sits, like God's mother,
Stringing pearls on a thread.
And he wants to tell her,
But only moves lips instead...
The breath has been stifled - ah
In the chest there is a glass chip.
And the glass slope walks past them
Like a guard who wants to sleep.
* * *
Down the Volga-river with
The steering dawn drove he.
Over just a single shoe
Why did you leave me?
Who will want a beauty
In just one shoe?
For the other shoe, friend,
I will come to you!
And rings, rings the bracelet: Drowned
The happiness of Stepan!
3
(Сон Разина)
И снится Разину — сон:
Словно плачется болотная цапля.
И снится Разину — звон:
Ровно капельки серебряные каплют.
И снится Разину дно:
Цветами — что плат ковровый.
И снится лицо одно —
Забытое, чернобровое.
Сидит, ровно Божья мать,
Да жемчуг на нитку нижет.
И хочет он ей сказать,
Да только губами движет…
Сдавило дыханье — аж
Стеклянный, в груди, осколок.
И ходит, как сонный страж,
Стеклянный — меж ними — полог.
* * *
Рулевой зарёю правил
Вниз по Волге-реке.
Ты зачем меня оставил
Об одном башмачке?
Кто красавицу захочет
В башмачке одном?
Я приду к тебе, дружочек,
За другим башмачком!
И звенят-звенят, звенят-звенят запястья:
— Затонуло ты, Степаново счастье!
___
Стенька Разин. 1. Ветры спать ушли — с золотой зарёй...
Стенька Разин. 2. А над Волгой — ночь...
Стенька Разин. 3. Сон Разина
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«Into the house he came at last / Where she’d dreamed of him as years came and passed, / Where for an age he’d yearned to be / For she had so decided, and so had he. I swear this must’ve been love indeed, / Take a look: you will recognize its deed. / But listen, go call on the Heaven...»
«St. Elmo’s fire lights up at midnight, / Burns on the mast before a tempest. / It will be warming up our spirits / For all past years, come shine or rain. / The day that we return to Portland, / Like little lambs we'll be the tamest, / Except to Portland, as we reckon, / We’re neve...»