5
In the name of massacre
Hold tight, my one with wings!
There was an hour of crossing
And will be — of getting even.
In that ton-and-half hour
Between fact and dream
Heavily paddled
The ship's wings.
Between Charybdis — yes! —
And Scylla paddled away.
Oh my wings,
The ships-cranes!
Then on the steep
Shore of Euxene
Stomped those who escaped,
Will — those who win.
In that hour exhausting
Between mud and muzzle
The wings did not weaken,
The hearts did not chill,
The shoulders were pressing,
In guard eyes remained.
O these wings of mine,
The ships-cranes!
Not given to offend
Narrow-faced little birds,
It was said — a she-eagle's
Heart of Taurides.
With many a letter
Onto cry long-beaked
The gray-haired Monarchian
Mom did awake.
And here's the Sofian
Cupola — far away...
O these my wings,
The ships-cranes!
Bear! Dark constellation
Will shiver up high.
The vengeance will come
Not from sea, from the sky.
Look: having been poured
With lead of heaven,
The flock of ships
Is menacing, heavy.
And there is no end to it,
There is no land...
O these my wings,
The ships-cranes!
5
Во имя расправы
Крепись, мой Крылатый!
Был час переправы,
А будет — расплаты.
В тот час стопудовый
— Меж бредом и былью —
Гребли тяжело
Корабельные крылья.
Меж Сциллою — да! —
И Харибдой гребли.
О крылья мои,
Журавли-корабли!
Тогда по крутому
Эвксинскому брегу
Был топот Побега,
А будет — Победы.
В тот час непосильный
— Меж дулом и хлябью —
Сердца не остыли,
Крыла не ослабли,
Плеча напирали,
Глаза стерегли.
— О крылья мои,
Журавли-корабли!
Птенцов узколицых
Не давши в обиду,
Сказалось —
Орлицыно сердце Тавриды.
На крик длинноклювый
— С ерами и с ятью! —
Проснулась —
Седая Монархиня-матерь.
И вот уже купол
Софийский — вдали…
О крылья мои,
Журавли-корабли!
Крепитесь! Кромешное
Дрогнет созвездье.
Не с моря, а с неба
Ударит Возмездье.
Глядите: небесным
Свинцом налитая,
Грозна, тяжела
Корабельная стая.
И нету конца ей,
И нету земли…
— О крылья мои,
Журавли-корабли!
____
Благая весть. 1. В сокровищницу...
Благая весть. 2. Жив и здоров!..
Благая весть. 3. Под горем не горбясь...
Благая весть. 4. Над спящим юнцом — золотые шпоры...
Благая весть. 5. Во имя расправы...
«They look anew with sightless eyes / Mother of God and the Savior-Child. / It smells of incense, oil, and wax. / The church fills up with quiet weeping. / The candles melt by the young meek woman / In the numb and stiff little fist. Ah, lead me away from my death, / You, whose hands are...»
«On the green hills a herd of horses strays; / Their nostrils blow the gold dust from the days. From the high hills to the blue water’s reach / They shake and drop their manes as black as pitch. Over the quiet water their heads strain; / The moon has caught them in a silver rein. Snorting ...»
«Where, my childhood’s home, art thou, / Warm beneath the hillock’s brow? / And my little blue, blue bud, / And the sand where no one trod? / Where, my childhood’s home, art thou? Past the river sings the cock. / There the shepherd grazed his flock / And amid the water’s play / ...»
«O fields of corn, O fields of corn. / An orphan’s grief is mine; / Heavy on my heart lies yesterday, / But in my heart you shine. The fleeting miles whistle like birds / About my horse’s mane, / And the sun is sprinkling lavishly / Her holy healing rain. O land of floods and agony ...»