Patient, patient, like gravel’s grind,
Patient, patient, like death in mind,
Patient, patient, like news unwinding,
Patient, patient, like vengeance finding —
Wait! Awaiting you (tight, fingers’ plait —
Like a serf by grand queen when bidden).
Patient, patient, like rhyming’s wait,
Patient, patient, like hands are bitten.
Wait! Awaiting you (earthy glance,
Teeth to lips. It’s locked jaw. Or flagstone.)
Patient, patient, like dallied trance,
Patient, patient, like beaded stringing.
Creak of sleigh, and door’s riposting creak:
Caterwauls the storm-wreaking taiga.
From on high has come the edict:
Tsardom’s gone — behold noble enters.
Time for home:
Heaven-home —
My home.
8
Терпеливо, как щебень бьют,
Терпеливо, как смерти ждут,
Терпеливо, как вести зреют,
Терпеливо, как месть лелеют —
Буду ждать тебя (пальцы в жгут —
Так Монархини ждёт наложник)
Терпеливо, как рифмы ждут,
Терпеливо, как руки гложут.
Буду ждать тебя (в землю — взгляд,
Зубы в губы. Столбняк. Булыжник).
Терпеливо, как негу длят,
Терпеливо, как бисер нижут.
Скрип полозьев, ответный скрип
Двери: рокот ветров таёжных.
Высочайший пришёл рескрипт:
— Смена царства и въезд вельможе.
И домой:
В неземной —
Да мой.
«Always so many pleas from a lover! / None when they fall out of love. / I’m so glad it plunges, the river, / Beneath colourless ice above. And I’m to stand — God help me! — / On the surface, fissured, gleaming, / With my letters, for posterity / To judge, in your safe keeping, ...»
«For the last time, we met, / On the embankment, as ever. / High water in the Neva, / Fear of flood in the city. He talked of the summer and said, / How absurd — a woman poet! / I remember the Tsar’s great palace, / The Peter and Paul fortress! — Then, the air was not ours, / Bu...»
«The high vault is bluer / Than the sky’s solid blue... / Forgive me, happy boy, / The death I brought you — For the roses from every place, / For your foolish words, / That your bold dark face / Pale with love, stirred. I thought: your purpose — / To show an adult’s pride. / ...»
«It’s endless — the heavy, amber day! / Impossible grief, pointless waiting! / And the silver-voiced deer, again, / Under the Northern Lights, belling. And I think there’s cold snow / A blue font for the poor and ill, / And a little sledge’s headlong flow, / To the ancient chime ...»