1
In the world bellowing:
Glory to the coming!
What whispers in me:
Glory to the gone be!
To you, passing,
That won't counted be,
Not bearing children,
Preceding me.
With brush, with key
They argued, with deed
Written — pure
Was their life, with honor.
White - than treasures
Of snow more fair! —
A novel — your
Conscience's — hair.
1
В мире, ревущем:
— Слава грядущим!
Что́ во мне шепчет:
— Слава прошедшим!
Вам, проходящим,
В счёт не идущим,
Чад не родящим,
Мне — предыдущим.
С клавишем, с кистью ль
Спорили, с дестью ль
Писчего — чисто
Прожили, с честью.
Белые — краше
Снега сокровищ! —
Волосы — вашей
Совести — повесть.
____
Отцам. 1. В мире, ревущем...
Отцам. 2. Поколенью с сиренью...
«A swarm of dust starting from the horizon / And pouring out across Sunday, everywhere, / Like a shower breaking through a bedroom window, / Did not yet reach the house. It propelled everything towards the dinner hour / While the third rain was occurring, / Like a whirlpool flinging a bicy...»
«O childhood! Scoop ladle of heart’s profundity! / O native groves and forests where / Confidence in self was firmly planted, / My inspirer, my overseer! What tears have dried themselves on window panes! / What wasps devoured the festering roses! / How often chaotic turmoil fades away / ...»
«Could I forget them? Kinfolk, / The seas? Caress a rail ticket? / For an orgy of the senses — a trap? / In a tempest — the crowd, a horde? A window, a compartment, provisions? / To get off somewhere? Unload somewhere? Settle down? / I relish the torment. — These scars! / Your lion...»
«So it begins. Year two rushes / From nurse into the darkness of melodies, / It whistles, it chirps, — then words / Begin around the third year. Thus does understanding begin. / And in the start-up noise of the turbine / It seems, that mother — is not mother. / You’re — not you, ...»