2
I celebrate thirty years
of union truer than love
I know every notch in your wood.
You know the lines in my face.
Haven’t you written them there?
devouring reams of paper
denying me any tomorrow
teaching me only today.
You’ve thrown my important letters
and money in floods together,
repeating: for every single verse
today has to be the deadline.
You’ve warned me of retribution
not to be measured in spoonbills.
And when my body will be laid out,
great fool! Let it be on you then.
2
Тридцатая годовщина
Союза — верней любви.
Я знаю твои морщины,
Как знаешь и ты — мои,
Которых — не ты ли — автор?
Съедавший за дестью десть,
Учивший, что нету — завтра,
Что только сегодня — есть.
И деньги, и письма с почты —
Стол — сбрасывавший — в поток!
Твердивший, что каждой строчки
Сегодня — последний срок.
Грозивший, что счётом ложек
Создателю не воздашь,
Что завтра меня положат —
Дури́щу — да на тебя ж!
«The sailors near the port / shouted in chorus, demanding wine, / and over Stambul and over the Bosphorus / the full moon shone. Tonight they will hurl an unfaithful wife / to the bottom of the bay, / a wife who was too beautiful / and looked like the moon. She loved her daydreams, / ...»
«Describing circle after circle, / The wheeling kite looks down upon / A dream-like, empty meadow. A mother / Grieves in the cabin for her son: / “Here, suck this breast, here, take this bread. / Grow up, be humble, trust in God.” The ages pass, endless war rages, / Revolt flares, vi...»
«Over the empty fields a black kite hovers, / And circle after circle smoothly weaves. / In the poor hut, over her son in the cradle / A mother grieves: / “There, suck my brest: there grow and take our bread, / And learn to bear your cross and bow your head.” Time passes. War returns. ...»
«1. Black night. / White snow. / The wind, the wind! / Impossible to stay on your feet. / The wind, the wind! / Blowing across God’s world! The wind swirls round / The clean, white snow. / Under the snow — there’s ice. / It’s sl...»