<2>
More than a woman
at the hour of a meeting!
Laurel-hewn,
red rags,
slashed blood —
snow.
Here they are, close steel cohort,
pinned to the Kremlin wall,
sleeping
in a row.
Laurel — instead of stone
and the Kremlin — rail.
You don’t need
God’s banner.
Honor —
how?
They weren’t honored, “With the Saints.”
They didn’t rest with the Saints.
Laurel.
Snow.
As over the Sacred Heart
the body — keeps guard.
I gnaw my own hands — for even
here,
snow.
Anger. — “Come inside! This, over their own?!”
For this first criminal connection
the hour
beats.
From the tower — which one? — I stand, and think.
That on such an earth,
I step,
I have grown.
I won’t come away! (“Cut off the hands!”)
More than a woman
at the hour of parting
the hour
beats.
Under another rebel’s laurel
my secret passion.
My anger is obvious —
enemy,
sleep!
2
Пуще чем женщина
В час свиданья!
Лавроиссеченный,
Красной рванью
Исполосованный
В кровь —
Снег.
Вот они, тесной стальной когортой,
К самой кремлёвской стене припёрты,
В ряд
Спят.
Лавр — вместо камня
И Кремль — оградой.
Крестного знамени
Вам не надо.
Как —
Чтить?
Не удостоились «Со святыми»,
Не упокоились со святыми.
Лавр.
Снег.
Как над Исусовым
Телом — стража.
Руки грызу себе, — ибо даже
Снег
Здесь
Гнев. — «Проходи! Над своими разве?!»
Первою в жизни преступной связью
Час
Бьёт.
С башни — который? — стою, считаю.
Что ж это здесь за земля такая?
Шаг
Врос.
Не оторвусь! («Отрубите руки!»)
Пуще чем женщине
В час разлуки —
Час
Бьёт.
Под чужеземным бунтарским лавром
Тайная страсть моя,
Гнев мой явный —
Спи,
Враг!
____
Москве. 1. Первородство — на сиротство!..
Москве. 2. Пуще чем женщина...
«The lime-trees by the open door / Breathe sweet and rich. / Forgotten on the table / A glove and riding switch. A yellow disk of lamplight, / A rustling near at hand. / (But why did you leave me? / I do not understand.) How beautiful the world is / In the morning cool and clear! / ...»
«I said to the cuckoo: “Till I die / Tell me how many years must pass!” / Pines were waving in the sky. / Yellow light fell on the grass. / Came no answer: all was still / In that leafy place. / As I walked home the wind blew chill / On my burning face.»
«No, no, I did not love you, — gladly / Scorched though I was by such a flame; / And yet explain the strength that sadly / Still lingers for me in your name. In front of me I saw you kneeling, / Like one who waited for a crown; / And round your youthful head was wheeling / Death’s si...»
«All is sold, all betrayed, all is looted; / Death’s black wing has flashed past in its flight. / All is gnawed by a hungering sorrow, — / Why shines there for us such a light? By day the town breathes scent of cherries / From an orchard that none can espy; / By night glitter new const...»