6
You won’t see me — grey.
I won’t see you — grown.
From immobilized eyes
You can’t squeeze a tear.
To all of your torment,
Dawn’s explosion — lament:
— Lower your arm!
Shed your raincoat!
In the dispassion
Of a stone-eyed cameo,
I won’t linger in the door,
As mothers linger:
(All the gravity of blood,
Of knees, of eyes —
For the very last earthly
Time!)
Not as a sneaking broken beast —
No, as a stone massif
I’ll go out of the door —
From life. For what then
Should tears flow,
As long as — I’m a stone off your
Shoulders!
Not a stone! — Already
In aquiline wideness —
A cloak! – and already on the azure rapids
Into that radiant city,
Whither — no mother
Dares to bring
Her child.
6
Седой — не увидишь,
Большим — не увижу.
Из глаз неподвижных
Слезинки не выжмешь.
На всю твою муку,
Раззор — плач:
— Брось руку!
Оставь плащ!
В бесстрастии
Каменноокой камеи,
В дверях не помедлю,
Как матери медлят:
(Всей тяжестью крови,
Колен, глаз —
В последний земной
Раз!)
Не кра́дущимся перешибленным зверем, —
Нет, каменной глыбою
Выйду из двери —
Из жизни. — О чём же
Слезам течь,
Раз — камень с твоих
Плеч!
Не камень! — Уже
Широтою орлиною —
Плащ! — и уже по лазурным стремнинам
В тот град осиянный,
Куда — взять
Не смеет дитя
Мать.
«Did he send no swan for me, / did he send no boat, no dark raft? / He promised in the spring of 'sixteen / that he would come without delay. / I'd fly to him like a bird in the spring / of nineteen sixteen, he said. / Through darkness and death I'd come to his perch / and touch his sho...»
«I pray to the slender shaft of light / that pierces the window, pale and straight. / Since morning I have not spoken; / today my heart in two is broken. / The shiny brass on my wash-stand / has turned to verdigris of late. Yet the light that plays upon it / is a gladness to behold. / ...»
«We suffer equally this parting: / It is dark, and it is lasting. / Why weep? Give me your hand / Promise to come again in dreamland. / You and I are like grief upon dearest grief… / In this world, for us, there can be no meeting. / Just send me in the small hours, / via the stars, / ...»
«I hear caterwauling somewhere, / Distant footfalls echo in the night. / A fine lullaby to me you left! / The third month, this, since last I slept. You're with me once again, insomnia, / Your iron face closer than anything; / Beauty, lawless beauty that you are, / Really, don't you like...»