I am defiantly wearing his ring
— Yes, in Eternity — as wife, not on paper. —
His overly narrow face —
Like a sword.
His mute mouth, angles down,
Painfully gorgeous eyebrows.
In his face tragically merged
Two ancient blood lines.
He is thin like first fragile branches.
His eyes — beautifully-useless! —
Under the wings of his open brows —
Two abysses.
In him I am faithful to the knighthood.
— To all of you, who have lived and died without fear. —
Thus — in these fateful times —
Compose verses - and go on the block
Я с вызовом ношу его кольцо
— Да, в Вечности — жена, не на бумаге. —
Его чрезмерно узкое лицо
Подобно шпаге.
Безмолвен рот его, углами вниз,
Мучительно-великолепны брови.
В его лице трагически слились
Две древних крови.
Он тонок первой тонкостью ветвей.
Его глаза — прекрасно-бесполезны! —
Под крыльями распахнутых бровей —
Две бездны.
В его лице я рыцарству верна.
— Всем вам, кто жил и умирал без страху. —
Такие — в роковые времена —
Слагают стансы — и идут на плаху.
«Past one o’clock. You must have gone to bed. / The Milky Way streams silver through the night. / I’m in no hurry; with lightning telegrams / I have no cause to wake or trouble you. / And, as they say, the incident is closed. / Love’s boat has smashed against the daily grind. / N...»
«Spring, I come in from the street, where the poplar is shaken, / Where distance is frightened, the house afraid it will fall, / Where the air is blue as the laundry bag / Of a patient released from hospital. Where evening is empty, an unfinished tale / Left in the air by a star with no sequ...»
«The thread of golden honey flowed from the bottle / so heavy and slow that our hostess had time to declare: / Here in melancholy Tauris, where fate has brought us, / we are not at all bored — and glanced back over her shoulder. On all side the rites of Bacchus, as if the world / held only...»
«Heaviness, tenderness — sisters — your marks are the same. / The wasps and the honey bees suck at the heavy rose. / Man dies, heat drains from the once warm sand, / and on a black bier they carry off yesterday's sun. Oh, you tender nets and you heavy honeycombs, / Easier to lift a ston...»