The barren slope of the meandering valley
Is overgrown with hoary, wiry grass.
Spurge shows up white. Eroded beds of clay
Reveal the sparkling lead and shale and mica.
The water-worn and slaty walls sprout capers;
A crevice clasps the olive’s withered trunk;
Above the hill, the violet Karadag
Rears up his summits in a jagged ridge.
The sultriness has wrapped the hills in haze.
The fumes of grass, mercurial reflections,
The screams of cicadae and birds of prey —
Make dull the senses, cause the heat to quaver...
And yonder, through their yawning orbits, gaze
The trampled-out eyes of a colossal Face.
Травою жёсткою, пахучей и седой
Порос бесплодный скат извилистой долины.
Белеет молочай. Пласты размытой глины
Искрятся грифелем, и сланцем, и слюдой.
По стенам шифера, источенным водой,
Побеги каперсов; иссохший ствол маслины;
А выше за холмом лиловые вершины
Подъемлет Карадаг зубчатою стеной.
И этот тусклый зной, и горы в дымке мутной,
И запах душных трав, и камней отблеск ртутный,
И злобный крик цикад, и клёкот хищных птиц —
Мутят сознание. И зной дрожит от крика…
И там — во впадинах зияющих глазниц
Огромный взгляд растоптанного Лика.
«The cold wind from a lagoon. / The silent coffins of gondolas. / I, in that night — so ill, and young so — / Had stretched myself against a lion. There on tower, with a song irony, / The giants tolls in that night hour. / Mark sank in the lagoon, all moonlit, / Iconostas, patterned...»
«There fades the boom of life, quite teasing, / And back is the affairs' tide. / But wind through a black velvet's singing / About the future and somewhere's life. Where shall I wake? In other country? / Not in this gloomy land, isn't it? / And won't I be just abundant / To recollect thi...»
«All on the earth will die — and youth and mother, / Wife will betray you, leave once faithful friend, / But you learn to enjoy the bliss another — / Look in a mirror of the polar land. Get on your bark, sail to the distant Pole / In walls of ice — and bit by bit forget / How they l...»
«I’m sick, for sure: deep darkness holds my heart, / I’m bored with the people and the stories, / And dream of treasures of the kingdoms, glories, / And yataghans, all covered with blood. It seems to me – and this is no fraud – / A Tartar, squint, was one of my begetters, / That fi...»