Not for flattering chausibles, frocks of lies —
I was born in this world with loud voice!
Wide awake — not the night dreams for me!
I don't live, like you, whisperingly!
From you, whisper-whisper, I have —
Lyre, lyre, a swan's curve!
With laurel, with dawn, with winds one
I make merry, I'm not a nun!
And the boy - is fair-haired, is not dumb!
And especially to wrong side it has gone —
From you, whisper-whisper, I have —
Lyre, lyre, a swan's curve!
Heavy, I hear, is woman's role!
I don't know — did not put on the scale!
My product is a gift, not for sale,
But with blueness will run my nail —
From you, scream-and-wheezing, I have —
Lyre, lyre, a swan's curve!
Не для льстивых этих риз, лживых ряс —
Голосистою на свет родилась!
Не ночные мои сны — наяву!
Шипом-шёпотом, как вы, не живу!
От тебя у меня, шёпот-тот-шип —
Лира, лира, лебединый загиб!
С лавром, с зорями, с ветрами союз,
Не монашествую я — веселюсь!
И мальчишка — недурён-белокур!
Ну, а накривь уж пошло чересчур, —
От тебя у меня, шёпот-тот-шип —
Лира, лира, лебединый загиб!
Доля женская, слыхать, тяжела!
А не знаю — на весы не брала!
Не продажный мой товар — даровой!
Ну, а ноготь как пойдёт синевой, —
От тебя у меня, клёкот-тот-хрип —
Лира, лира, лебединый загиб!
«Hush, my little sleepy-head. / Mama’s gone — to Paris fled. / Ah-Ah-Ah, please don’t you weep. / There were reasons, go to sleep. / Over there beneath the couch / Crawls a sleek and shiny roach. / Where’s his wife? In Paris, too? / No, she isn’t; that’s not true. / Life h...»
«One night I met, to my surprise, / A puny devil, blue with cold — / No bigger than a child in size, / His feral face was gaunt and old. He shivered in the icy rain, / Which had soaked through his matted pelt. / “This son of hell feels cold and pain — / We share one fate,” I some...»
«I feel the need for someone I can pray to. / Imagine that a common lowly ant / Was overcome by yearning for a way to / Prostrate himself—as humble supplicant. At peace no more, dispirited, frustrated / So all the world appeared to him mundane. / A goddess in his image he created / And...»
«I see that this morning your eyes are especially sad; / Especially slender the arms that encircle your calves / Well, listen, far off to the south on the shores of Lake Chad, / There roams the exquisite giraffe. To him have been given harmonious figure and grace, / His hide is embellished w...»