I don't disturb, I do not sing
With a woman's poison. Hand
That is loyal I give to you —
Right one, that will hold the pen.
That, with which I form the cross
In the beauty of the night.
That, with which the things that God
Did command to me I write.
My left hand is daring,
Flattering and also sly.
Here to you the righteous
And right hand do proffer I.
Не смущаю, не пою
Женскою отравою.
Руку верную даю —
Пишущую, правую.
Той, которою крещу
На ночь — ненаглядную
Той, которою пишу
То, что Богом задано.
Левая — она дерзка,
Льстивая, лукавая.
Вот тебе моя рука —
Праведная, правая!
«It is not seemly to be famous: / Celebrity does not exalt; / There is no need to hoard your writings / And to preserve them in a vault. / / To give your all-this is creation, / And not-to deafen and eclipse. / How shameful, when you have no meaning, / To be on everybody's lips! / ...»
«To be the famous isn't attractive, / Not this could ever elevate, / You needn't to make your archive active, / You needn't your scripts to be all saved. / / Self-offering's aimed by creation, / But ballyhoo or cheap success, / It is a shame, if worthless persons / Are talks of towns...»
«To be well-known is kind of naive; / You're elevated not by this; / Taking good care of your archive / And manuscripts would be amiss. / / Devotion is the'goal of creation, / Not a success, and not reclame. / Without total dedication / To be a hero is a shame. / / But you shoul...»
«The murmurs ebb; onto the stage I enter. / I am trying, standing in the door, / To discover in the distant echoes / What the coming years may hold in store. / / The nocturnal darkness with a thousand / Binoculars is focused onto me. / Take away this cup, O Abba Father, / Everything ...»