4.
War, war! — burn incense before the icons!
And the clatter of spurs.
But the Tsar's proclamations do not concern me,
Neither do the poeople's quarrels.
I seem on a fraiyed tightrope
I — a tiny dancer.
I — the shadow of someone's shadow.
I — a sleepwalker
Between two dark moons.
4
Война, война! — Кажденья у киотов
И стрёкот шпор.
Но нету дела мне до царских счётов,
Народных ссор.
На, кажется, — надтреснутом — канате
Я — маленький плясун.
Я тень от чьей-то тени. Я лунатик
Двух тёмных лун.
«God alive! I'm not beyond coherence: / mindfully, I walk among my poems / like a disobliging abbot / among his humble monks. / I shepherd my obedient flock / with a staff that's bursting into bloom. / The keys to the mysterious garden / hang clinking at my belt. / I ponder hopefully,...»
«Through the consoling April sun / the breeze, so very unconsoling, / a sandy whirlwind on the road — / shutting up the chattering starling. Up above the northern latitudes, / dark grey clouds are bulking high. / Bowler hats get pulled down tight — / but these two dandies let theirs ...»
«Step over, leap across, / fly beyond, however you like, get through it — / but tear yourself off: be a stone from a sling, / be a star that breaks away from the night... / You lost it yourself — now look for it. God knows what you grunt to yourself, / looking for spectacles or keys.»
«Yes, yes! In blind and tender passion / wear out the pain, burn out the fire; / rip your heart up, like a letter, / lose your mind, and then expire. And then? Once more to roll away / the gravestone that lies over you; / to love once more, and flash your feet / upon a stage of moonlit b...»