I dedicate these lines to
Those who will arrange my coffin.
When you open my high,
Hated forehead.
Changed unnecessarily,
By a crown on my head, —
My own heart alien
Will I lie in the coffin.
They will not look at my face:
«I hear all! Can see all!
My being in that coffin still hurts
Being like them.»
In a white gown — in childhood's
Unloved color! —
Will I lie — with someone for company? —
Until the end of my years.
Listen! — I do not accept!
This — trap!
It will not be me you bury,
Not me.
I know! - All will be burnt to ashes!
And the grave will shelter
Nothing, that I loved,
or lived.
Посвящаю эти строки
Тем, кто мне устроит гроб.
Приоткроют мой высокий,
Ненавистный лоб.
Изменённая без нужды,
С венчиком на лбу,
Собственному сердцу чуждой
Буду я в гробу.
Не увидят на лице:
«Всё мне слышно! Всё мне видно!
Мне в гробу ещё обидно
Быть как все».
В платье белоснежном — с детства
Нелюбимый цвет! —
Лягу — с кем-то по соседству? —
До скончанья лет.
Слушайте! — Я не приемлю!
Это — западня!
Не меня опустят в землю,
Не меня.
Знаю! — Всё сгорит дотла!
И не приютит могила
Ничего, что я любила,
Чем жила.
«From rooftops, tears seeped into pipes / and to the river’s arm drew streaks, / while lips, suspended from the skies, / continued sucking on stone teats. The sky, relaxed, could now see clearly: / along the sea's resplendent channel, / the sweating cameleer drove wearily / The Neva’...»
«The violin was panicking, imploring / and suddenly burst into tears, / so child-like and pesky / that the drum couldn't stand it: / "All right, all right, all right!" / It got weary, couldn't wait till the violin finished, / slipped out onto the gleaming Kuznetsky / and took flight. / ...»
«The restaurant was rouge from the electricity. / Chairs were soaked with the flesh of the feminine heap. / When the insulted conductor rushed in and explicitly / commanded musicians to weep. And, right away, the trumpet — swinging — / smacked the sated muzzle with a handful of copper te...»
«The moon is emerging. / It going to be here / soon. / Now, it hangs in the air, full and stark. / That is probably God, / with a divine / silver spoon, / groping in the fish-soup of stars. »