2.
To give you all... but no, it has all been squeezed
into rhyme and rows... The heart is more!
I am afraid that for such small misfortune
The whole of Racine and Shakespeare is not enough!
«And all wept, and supposing the blood hurts...
And all wept, and suppose among the roses — A snake»...
But there was one — by Phaedra — Hippolyte!
Ariadne's Lament — for one Theseus!
Torment! Neither shores nor milestones!
Yes, I affirm, the account is overdrawn
That I lose them all in you, all those who
Anywhere or anytime, did not exist!
What aspirations — when you are thoroughly
Saturated — the air becomes stale
No Naxos for me — own bone
No own blood under the skin — Styx!
Vanity! Is within me! Everywhere! Whith closed
Eyes: bottomless! Without daylight! And the
Calendar date lies...
Like you — Severance,
I am not Ariadne and no... — Loss!
Oh, across what seas, in what towns
Should I seek you? (invisible to me — the sightless!)
I entrust seeing you off to wires,
And, leaning against a telegraph pole — I weep.
2
Чтоб высказать тебе… да нет, в ряды
И в рифмы сдавленные… Сердце — шире!
Боюсь, что мало для такой беды
Всего Расина и всего Шекспира!
«Все́ плакали, и если кровь болит…
Все́ плакали, и если в розах — змеи»…
Но был один — у Федры — Ипполит!
Плач Ариадны — об одном Тезее!
Терзание! Ни берегов, ни вех!
Да, ибо утверждаю, в счёте сбившись
Что я в тебе утрачиваю всех
Когда-либо и где-либо небывших!
Какия чаянья — когда насквозь
Тобой пропитанный — весь воздух свыкся!
Раз Наксосом мне — собственная кость!
Раз собственная кровь под кожей — Стиксом!
Тщета! во мне она! Везде! закрыв
Глаза: без дна она! без дня! И дата
Лжёт календарная…
Как ты — Разрыв,
Не Ариадна я и не…
— Утрата!
О, по каким морям и городам
Тебя искать? (Незримого — незрячей!)
Я про́воды вверяю провода́м,
И в телеграфный столб упёршись — плачу.
«I splashed some colours from a tumbler / and smeared the drab world with emotion. / I charted on a dish of jelly / the jutting cheekbones of the ocean. / Upon the scales of a tin salmon / I read the calls of lips yet mute. / And you, / could you have played a noc...»
«Windows split the city’s great hell / into tiny hellets — vamps with lamps. / The cars, red devils, exploded their yells / right in your ear, rearing on their rumps. And there, under the signboard with herrings from Kerch / an old man, knocked down, stooping to search / for his specs,...»
«Now, listen! / Surely, if the stars arc lit / there’s somebody who longs for them, / somebody who wants them to shine a bit, / somebody who calls it, that wee speck of spittle, a gem? And overridden / by blizzards of midday dust, / tears in to God, / afraid that it’s too late, / ...»
«You, wallowing through orgy alter orgy, / owning a bathroom and warm, snug toilet! / How dare you read about awards of St. Georgi / from newspaper columns with your blinkers oily?! Do you realise, multitudinous nonentities / thinking how better to fill your gob, / that perhaps just now Pe...»