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!
«The just man followed then his angel guide / Where he strode on the black highway, hulking and bright; / But a wild grief in his wife’s bosom cried, / Look back. it is not too late for a last sight Of the red towers of your native Sodom, the square / Where once you sang, the gardens you s...»
«All is despoiled, abandoned, sold; / Death’s wing has swept the sky of color; / All’s eaten by a hungry dolor. / What is this light which we behold? Odors of cherry blossom sigh / From the rumored forest beyond the town. / At night, new constellations crown / The high, clear heavens...»
«1 O two-tongued angel, on my grief a hundred / proof no less I should have got you drunk. / But I'm not one, whatever pain the lies encouraged / from the start, to claim a tooth for a tooth. / And now the clever, festering doom! Oh, no, betraying angel, it's not fatal, / not this sufferi...»
«At dusk you appear, a schoolgirl still, / a schoolgirl. Winter. The sunset a woodsman hacking / in the forest of hours. I lie back to wait for dusk. / At once were hallooing; back and forth we call. But the night! A torture chamber, bustling hell. / Come — if anything could bring you! —...»