To Alla
1
You will be innocent, gorgeous,
Refined — and to all alien.
A striving, aspiring mistress,
An enticing Amazon.
Your braids of hair, most likely,
To wear like a helmet you'll choose,
You will be the queen of the ballroom —
Of all the poems of our youth.
And your vicious blade of humor
Will pierce through many, queen,
And you will have at your feet
All of which I can but dream.
All will be obedient to you,
And all before you will be quiet.
Like me, you will indisputably
And better poems write.
But will you press tight and deadly
Those temples of yours — who knows —
Just like your young mother
Is pressing her temples now.
1
Ты будешь невинной, тонкой,
Прелестной — и всем чужой.
Пленительной амазонкой,
Стремительной госпожой.
И косы свои, пожалуй,
Ты будешь носить, как шлем,
Ты будешь царицей бала —
И всех молодых поэм.
И многих пронзит, царица,
Насмешливый твой клинок,
И всё, что мне — только снится,
Ты будешь иметь у ног.
Всё будет тебе покорно,
И все при тебе — тихи.
Ты будешь, как я — бесспорно —
И лучше писать стихи…
Но будешь ли ты — кто знает —
Смертельно виски сжимать,
Как их вот сейчас сжимает
Твоя молодая мать.
«On pavements I will pound them out / Of sun and glass combined; / In winter, let the loft resound / As mildewed corners read my lines. The attic will itself declaim, / With bow to wintry window frame, / And up to ledge and roof will rise / A leap of wonders, woes, and signs. A month an...»
«My age, my beast, who can / Gaze into your pupils / And with his blood cement / The vertebrae of two centuries? Blood the Builder gushes / From the throat of earthly things, / The parasite must tremble / On the threshold of new days. A creature drags its backbone / As long as it's al...»
«They don't wait for letters, / For a letter they wait. / A shred of rag / Around a braid / Of glue. Within — a word. / And happiness. And this - is all. Thus they don't wait for joy, / Thus they wait for the end: / A soldier's salute / And into the chest — lead / Three pieces...»
«I opened my veins. Unstoppably / life spurts out with no remedy. / Now I set out bowls and plates. / Every bowl will be shallow. / Every plate will be small. / And overflowing their rims, / into the black earth, to nourish / the rushes unstoppably / without...»