Early yet — to no longer be!
Early yet — to no longer burn!
Tenderness! A brutal lash
Of Underworld encounters.
However deep your inclination —
The sky — is a fathomless vat!
O, for such a love it’s
Early yet — to not feel wounded!
Life is alive with jealousy!
Blood lusts to stream
On the ground. Does a widow
Give up her right — to the sword?
Life is alive with jealousy!
Loss is consecrated to
My heart! Does grass
Give up its right — to the scythe?
The secret thirst of grasses...
Every new shoot says: “crush me”...
Having dispensed with bindings,
My wounds remain — my own!
And until You suture us
— I bleed! — until You press my wound —
Early yet for the frozen reaches
Of the Underworld!
Рано ещё — не быть!
Рано ещё — не жечь!
Нежность! Жестокий бич
Потусторонних встреч.
Как глубоко́ ни льни —
Небо — бездонный чан!
О, для такой любви
Рано ещё — без ран!
Ревностью жизнь жива!
Кровь вожделеет течь
В землю. Отдаст вдова
Право своё — на меч?
Ревностью жизнь жива!
Благословен ущерб
Сердцу! Отдаст трава
Право своё — на серп?
Тайная жажда трав…
Каждый росток: «сломи»…
До лоскута раздав,
Раны ещё — мои!
И пока общий шов
— Льюсь! — не наложишь Сам —
Рано ещё для льдов
Потусторонних стран!
«While digging through a heap of muck, / By chance, a village rooster plucked / A shiny pearl. He looked at it and wondered / "What is the use of it? And why is it so pricey? / This pearl is nothing but a silly bead! / Pearl barley pleases me much more indeed! / Its grains may not have vi...»
«With time, old Monkey's eyes were getting poor; / One day, she heard that Glasses were the cure. / If it was true indeed what people said, / Then her predicament was not so bad! / She got the Glasses — half a dozen frames; / And tried them on in each...»
«Blue, the color of the skies, / Was the first I recognized / Blue, its mystery beguiled / The pure senses of a child. Even now, when I am close / To my infinite repose, / When my final debts are due, / My devotion is to blue. Blue — I see a magic spell / In your eyes — those two ...»
«Some nights, as soon as I lie down, / I'm back in Russia in my dream; / My hands behind my back are bound / They're taking me to the ravine. Then I wake up, and from the chair — / Where my wrist watch always lies — / Its glowing face through darkness stares, / Like a gun muzzle in m...»