What rain!
Our sail is drenched
and one cannot see that it was striped,
The rouge runs down your cheeks,
and you look like a dye worker from Tyre.
Nervously we crossed the threshold
of the charcoal burner’s low mud hut;
The man with the scar on his forehead
pushed away the dirty children
with septic eyes and full of scabs,
and placing the stump in front of you,
he brushed the dust off with his apron,
clapped his hands, and said:
“Would the master like to eat some cakes?”
And the old black woman rocked the baby and sang:
“If I were the Pharaoh,
I would buy two pears,
one I would give to my friend,
the other I would eat myself.”
Что за дождь?
Наш парус совсем смок,
и не видно уж, что он — полосатый.
Румяна потекли по твоим щекам,
и ты — как тирский красильщик.
Со страхом переступили мы
порог низкой землянки угольщика;
хозяин со шрамом на лбу
растолкал грязных в коросте ребят
с больными глазами
и, поставив обрубок перед тобою,
смахнул передником пыль
и, хлопнув рукою, сказал:
«Не съест ли лепешек господин?»
А старая черная женщина
качала ребенка и пела:
«Если б я был фараоном,
купил бы я себе две груши:
одну бы отдал своему другу,
другую бы я сам скушал...»
«A blizzard sweeps the streets, / Coiling and staggering. / Someone gives me a hand, / Someone smiles at me, Leads me until I see a deep, / Enclosed by somber granite, / And this deep flows and sings, / And calls like an accursed spirit. I draw near, I withdraw, / I stand stock-still,...»
«Beyond the town a sterile quarter grew / On swampy and unsteady ground. / Here lived the poets — and each one met / The others with a supercilious smile. In vain upon this dismal swamp / The bright-eyed day arose: / The inmates devoted their time / Only to wine and heavy work. When d...»
«The winter day is cold and snowy, / White is the harbor, hard the ground. / A heavy liner, outward bound, / Is moving carefully and slowly. One yellow solitary lamp / Sways in the wind its ghostly halo, / The outlines of the crane and silo / Are blacker than the sky, and damp. Look how...»
«I’m praying to the window ray — / It’s pallid, thin, exact. / I have not said a word all day, / Although my heart is cracked. / Over the years, my washstand’s color / Became a tint of green. / The playful ray upon its copper / Creates a pleasing scene. / So pure and simple to...»