Mikhail Kuzmin
Spinning with mirror-like gold...

Spinning with mirror-like gold
at the intersection of rays,
(Face, face, face!..)
standing behind the royal gates
the unbearable and the nobody’s!

In the aspen waist of Siam
Crete swayed crookedly
(Face, face, face!..)
In the network of spherical radiance
it burns inextinguishably.

If you cover your face with a thick cover,
the same face will burn through the stitching.
To confine in a chamber without doors or windows,
with a rotating ceiling and black incense,
into a secret and harrowing prayer room, —
the face will emerge outside, rotten,
charred and with a sacred sign.
From the depths of the sea will rise unprecedented algae,
from the grave anemones will sprout,
with a lilac, languid fire
will it freeze with the bottomless swamps?

Turin, Turin,
blessed city,
in a piece of linen
chemical theology
enshrining,
rejoice now and forever!

The tumbler pigeon cries: “Turin?”,
The river boils in the middle like a stream,
The soldiers’ camp has been petrified forevermore,
I? the city and the walls, a living person!
From the narrow sacristy I carry a chiton,
By the Lord I will save the Lord Himself!

You will not sink it,
will not bury it,
will not lock it,
will not burn it,
will not cut it,
will not beg for it
your own face,
poor little king,
as you yourself declared!

On thoughtless, light, bird-like days? it appeared.
When the lights of moral will were ignited —
it appeared.
When we were naked, like autumn stumps —
it appeared.
When a pitiful will whispered: “crucify!” —
it appeared.

Golden April sailed away
on wondrous tea-colored sails, —
the spirit of herbs, the wind’s drunkenness ,
meltings of heavenly ambers!
The streams babble more cheerfully,
but the heart beats and fears:
everything is purer, more virginal, whiter
the mysterious shroud.

I open my hands
open my heart,
hold my breath,
move my eyes to my chest,
desire? in the head,
the ability to move? in the ears,
hearing? in the feet,
I scare the sky,
wait for a miracle,
do not breathe?.
More, more?.

Blood sang thickly and distinctly:
«You will see prophetic stains again».

Translated by Jennifer Daria Hadawi