There are names like stifling flowers
And gazes like a dancing flame…
There are dark sinuous mouths
With deep damp corners.
There are women. — Their hair, like a helmet,
Their fan smells deadly and delicate.
They are thirty. — Why, why do you need
My Spartan child’s soul?
Есть имена, как душные цветы,
И взгляды есть, как пляшущее пламя…
Есть тёмные извилистые рты
С глубокими и влажными углами.
Есть женщины. — Их волосы, как шлем,
Их веер пахнет гибельно и тонко.
Им тридцать лет. — Зачем тебе, зачем
Моя душа спартанского ребёнка?
«So early that it hadn’t dawned, / The ringing windowpanes awoke me. / A moistened pretzel made of stone, — / Beneath me, Venice floated calmly. Now, all was calm, but all the while, / While still asleep, I heard a cry / And like a mark that had been silenced, / It still disturbed th...»
«A click of window glass had roused me / Out of my sleep at early dawn. / Beneath me Venice swam in water, / A sodden pretzel made of stone. It was all quiet now; however, / While still asleep, I heard a cry — / And, like a sign that had been silence, / It still disturbed the morning s...»
«It snowed and snowed throughout the land, / A ceaseless snowing. / On the table, a candle burned; / A flame was glowing. Like a swarm of gnats in summer / That flock to a light, / Snowflakes flew to the windowpane, / Afloat in the night. The storm drew arrows on the glass / And circl...»
«And the just man trailed God's shining agent, / over a black mountain, in his giant track, / while a restless voice kept harrying his woman: / "It's not too late, you can still look back at the red towers of your native Sodom, / the square where once you sang, the spinning-shed, / at the ...»