Not a broken rib —
A broken wing.
Not to the shooters shot —
Through chest. Not to take out
This bullet. Wing can't be repaired.
He walked impaired.
***
Sticky is crown of thorns on the head!
What is the noise of mob to one dead,
The swan's down of woman's flattery...
He walked, deaf and lonely,
Freezing over the sunsets
With emptiness of eyeless statues.
But one thing still lived in him:
The broken wing.
14
Не проломанное ребро —
Переломленное крыло.
Не расстрельщиками навылет
Грудь простреленная. Не вынуть
Этой пули. Не чинят крыл.
Изуродованный ходил.
* * *
Цепок, цепок венец из терний!
Что усопшему — трепет черни,
Женской лести лебяжий пух...
Проходил, одинок и глух,
Замораживая закаты
Пустотою безглазых статуй.
Лишь одно ещё в нём жило:
Переломленное крыло.
«This is to you, / well-fed baritones, / from Adam / to the present day / shaking the dives called theatres with the groans / of Romeo and Juliet or some such child’s play. To you, / maitres painters / fattening like ponies, / guzzling and guffawing salt of the earth, / secluded ...»
«Spanish stone / rose in cliff and wall / dazzling white, / jagged as saw-teeth. / Till twelve / the steamer / stood swallowing coal / and...»
«The steamer hove in, / hooted, / roared, / and, / runaway convict, / they've chained’er. / 700 / ...»
«Take / the biggermost / New York house, / scan it through / from bottom to top: / you’ll find age-old cubbyholes / fit...»