1
In a shady ring my eyes
She surrounded — insomnia.
With a shady wreath insomnia
Did my eyes bind.
At night — the same!
To idols don't pray.
Idol-worshipper — I'll give
Your secret away.
To you — day's not enough,
Fire of sun above!
You pale-faced one, wear
My rings' pair!
You screamed — and proclaimed
The wreath of shade.
Enough — did you — call me?
Enough — did you — sleep with me?
People bow to you.
Light in face you'll lie.
I'll be reader to you,
I, insomnia:
Sleep, soothed,
Sleep, rewarded one,
Sleep, wreathed,
Woman.
That - you would sleep — easy,
I will sing — to thee:
"Never-silent one,
Go to sleep, my girl,
You the sleepless one,
Sleep, my little pearl."
And to whom we didn't write letters so,
And to whom we did not vow..
Sleep.
Here now parted are
The inseparable.
Here released from arms
Are your little arms.
Here you're tormented,
My dear tormentess.
Sleep's — holy.
All — sleep.
Wreath's — gone.
1
Обвела мне глаза кольцом
Теневым — бессонница.
Оплела мне глаза бессонница
Теневым венцом.
То-то же! По ночам
Не молись — идолам!
Я твою тайну выдала,
Идолопоклонница.
Мало — тебе — дня,
Солнечного огня!
Пару моих колец
Носи, бледноликая!
Кликала — и накликала
Теневой венец.
Мало — меня — звала?
Мало — со мной — спала?
Ляжешь, легка лицом.
Люди поклонятся.
Буду тебе чтецом
Я, бессонница:
— Спи, успокоена,
Спи, удостоена,
Спи, увенчана,
Женщина.
Чтобы — спалось — легче,
Буду — тебе — певчим:
— Спи, подруженька
Неугомонная!
Спи, жемчужинка,
Спи, бессонная.
И кому ни писали писем,
И кому с тобой ни клялись мы…
Спи себе.
Вот и разлучены
Неразлучные.
Вот и выпущены из рук
Твои рученьки.
Вот ты и отмучилась,
Милая мученица.
Сон — свят,
Все — спят.
Венец — снят.
«I watch you as coldly as never, / But can’t keep this pine in my breast, / Today sun’s in smoke of havens, / And sadness makes heavy a breath. I know, I breed just a fable — / At least, trust to fables, — but you?.. / Like needless oblations, in alleys, / Leaves fall in the mou...»
«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. ...»