Unmoved by bullets, confrontations,
Unmoved by songs of celebration!
And so I gape, with admiration:
“What people! What a nation!”
A nation — such, that with elation —
A mouthpiece of vastness stationed —
A poet, gapes with adoration,
Dumbstruck: O, what a nation!
It won’t submit to occupation,
Or to the luxury its shown, —
You try to beat it with starvation?
Try starving — granite stone!
(It’s there — it cuts a stone with care,
Its grammar won’t grow stagnant…
Engrained inside, it waits! — it flares! —
A garnet, makes - a magnet.)
…Took radium out of its chest,
And gave you — a donation!
Alive, — with Europe still abreast —
To bury such a nation?
If you yourself are – such, my Lord!
You’ll do it as I’m willing -
Don’t sanctify it with your horde, -
Breathe life into the living!
Его и пуля не берёт,
И песня не берёт!
Так и стою, раскрывши рот:
— Народ! Какой народ!
Народ — такой, что и поэт —
Глашатай всех широт, —
Что и поэт, раскрывши рот,
Стоит — такой народ!
Когда ни сила не берёт,
Ни дара благодать, —
Измором взять такой народ?
Гранит — измором взять!
(Сидит — и камешек гранит,
И грамотку хранит…
В твоей груди зарыт — горит! —
Гранат, творит — магнит.)
…Что радий из своей груди
Достал и подал: вот!
Живым — Европы посреди —
Зарыть такой народ?
Бог! Если ты и сам — такой,
Народ моей любви
Не со святыми упокой —
С живыми оживи!
«I clasped hands in the veil’s saving darkness... / “Why your face got the pallor today?” / That’s because I filled him with tart sadness, / made like drunken, and gotten a sway. / How can I forget? He left staggered, / lips are bent to significant rate... / I ran down behind lik...»
«The tenant sits upon his case, / Abstractedly regards the floor, / The same old table, bed, and chair, / The old upholstery the same old place, / The same ragout on the plate. But despite / All this, everything wears a strange new light. Daisy's thick calves gleam enticingly, / Her buxo...»
«Three students sit with a pair of whores: / Dudilenko, Barsov, and Blok; / Dasha wears a kerchief and a boa, / And Kasha a shawl and a frock. The workman's lamps have burned right down, / All eyes are on the cards they play, / Heads bent low, necks and shoulders round,...»
« It's dark... / The bastard street lamp's run away / And wine / Has, like a sea squall, made my frail ship sway. / In the dark / I grab at a telegraph pole for support. / I feel fine / But something's gone wrong with my leg. / ...»