Mikhail Kuzmin
Wreath of Springtimes

1

Whose name will we hear on the spring journey?
What will we write in the book of the heart on the spring journey?
We are not vases of sweet spikenard in a dark basement:
It is not fitting to sleep in niches on the spring journey.
The running of the river, the flow of streams swirls faster,
It was as if everything had become a dervish on a spring journey.
I am intoxicated by the bright grove, the mountains, the valley
And grass on flat roofs on the spring journey!
The voice is more ringing, the faster run, the loving dance
We will not quiet down, we will not quiet down on the spring journey!
The blind guide of the blind, blind love,
We breathe only you on the spring journey!

2

The golden ligature leads, across the sky, the beloved name.
I whisper, languishing in the long night, the beloved name.
Having come out to the square, loudly I will say, let everyone listen,
Herald of love, I will yell without shame, the beloved name.
Let them lock me in prison, to praise with songs
The cruel prince cannot forbid me, the beloved name.
I will sow two letters on the garden bed with yellow nasturtium,
So that everyone would watch, marveling piously, the beloved name.
Let them deprive me of my hands and tongue — with languid sighs
I will say, how indissoluble our connection is, the beloved name!

3

Whoever has seen Mecca and Medina — blessed!
Who met his death without fear — blessed!
Who knows the secrets of hidden treasure, of magic,
Who is equal to Aladdin in happiness — blessed!
And you, who scorned the temptation of gold, the honor
And who took the beggar’s basket. — blessed!
And he, for whom prayer is easy, sweet
Like it is to a muezzin in the evening hour, — blessed!
And I, gazing into the lakes of eyes, into the garden of bliss
And taking the raspberries of scarlet lips, — blessed!

4

Birth and death — the Almighty of heaven gives everything.
Voice to a toad, color to a jasmine — the Almighty of heaven gives everything.
Heat in the summer, flowers in spring, bunches of fruit in ruddy autumn
And in the mountains, an avalanche of snow — the Almighty of heaven gives everything.
And profit, and ruin, a happy path, death on the road
The power of kings and the cobweb — the Almighty of heaven gives everything.
To the cupbearers, the shine of cunning eyes, to the wise men, respect to their gray hair,
To the shapely, a figure, to a hunchback, a hunch — the Almighty of heaven gives everything.
Prison towers, the run of the Euphrates, the walls of the rocks, the expanses of deserts,
And wherever I cast my eye — the Almighty of heaven gives everything.
For my share — the captivity of smiles, the trumpets of meetings, the separations of the zurna,
I do not lament my fate: the Almighty of heaven gives everything.

5

What, tell me, is more beautiful than rainbows? Your face.
What is trickier than all riddles? Your face.
What is like the languid stream blowing in the evening hour,
Just like the spirit of the jasmine beds? Your face!
What, like lightning, flashes on the day of summer storms
From behind heavy, dark folds? Your face.
What instills death and a pale fear in my heart,
A residue of sorrowful bitterness? Your face.
What would suddenly open the gate into an unexpected garden,
Where the peace of ponds is so sweet? Your face!
What is the open book of fate, golden ligature
Of all the questions, of all the clues? Your face.

6

Glance up at the vault of the sky: all the luminaries!
Bow down over the bowl of waters: all the luminaries!
In the black mirror of the pond, the hour of silence
Wreathed into an ornamental round-dance, all the luminaries!
The morning doors are locked, the guard is reliable,
All the luminaries faithfully keep the measured course,
Brown eyes and the peach of cheeks, a light ringlet,
The scarlet mouth more scarlet than the rose — all the luminaries.
The pond of my eyes, open straight into the sky,
Reflected of your beauties — all the luminaries.
The diligent swarm, of the light bees in the dewy roses,
Collects honey into a starry honeycomb all the luminaries.
The hive of kisses is sweet: what can be more dear?
Ah, mix up the idle count, all the luminaries!
You — are with me, and the night is full; morning, delay!
Sweet to us is the last fruit, all the luminaries!

7

I — the customer, you — the merchant: the exchange of gazes suits us.
You — the passerby, I — the singer: the exchange of gazes suits us
You swear, I am silent, I sing and you listen;
Let the evil fool curse: the exchange of gazes suits us.
I, asking for brocades, rings, with the wise secrets of amulets,
I will give you a crown of songs: the exchange of gazes suits us.
Unfurling the statute of love, where laws shine clearly,
You — the judge, and I — the plaintiff: the exchange of gazes suits us
In the hunt, you — the deer: swift of foot, keen of ear,
But I too am a skilled hunter: the exchange of gazes suits us.
On the mountain you herd the flock: watchful shepherd, never slumbering:
I am like a wolf among sheep: the exchange of gazes suits us.
Darling miser, guard your treasure: the crafty thief sneaks toward you,
Take the cleverest key, miser, the exchange of gazes suits us.
The circle is cordoned off, the call sounded, come out for a duel,
I — a seasoned fighter, the exchange of gazes suits us.
A bird in a cage, heat in the chest, who will disenchant our captivity?
Well, are you flying, my starling? the exchange of gazes suits us.
In my soul there is a chamber: candles melt, incense breathes,
You — the dweller of that chamber: the exchange of gazes suits us.
Did you not know before that in the expansive seas of love
I — am a swimmer and you — are a swimmer? the exchange of gazes suits us.
Whoever laughs — is without mind; who reproaches — lacks reasoning
Whoever does not understand — a miser: the exchange of gazes suits us.
Why are you silent, my mute guest? Why do you cast sly glances?
You’re mine, you’re finally mine: the exchange of gazes suits us!...

8

Leave the wearisome rest, come down here!
Desirable and slow, come down here!
The dogs are fed by me, the door is open,
And your vigilant guard sleeps: come down here!
Ah, I could not sleep at home, you’re all in your mind…
With a comforting smile, come down here!
Leave your soft beds, put on your coat,
At my sweet call come down here!
By the moon, that fourteen nights have passed,
Reveal your dazzling face, come down here!
The silence is ruined only by the tinkling waters,
I am waiting in agonizing silence, come down here!
Here I hear, the door creak, the flicker of fire…
Destructive, life-giving, come down here!

9

You give everyone a drink without withdrawal, cupbearer,
But your embraces are not for everyone, cupbearer!
The eyebrows — a bow, and the look under the eyebrows — an arrow,
But I will not embrace you, cupbearer!
The torso — a spear, the dagger is sparkling — teeth,
But I won’t kiss you, cupbearer!
In the noise of the feast, in the riotous whirlwind of dancing
I’m waiting for a conditional handshake, cupbearer!
Do not pour the wine into the cup with excess:
After all — wine is a bad matchmaker, cupbearer!
And in the morning I will reveal the secret,
Only when the brothers will fall asleep wearily, cupbearer!

10

How gently the distance turns golden in the spring!
What kind of attire does the almond don in the spring!
The ringing creek runs from the heights to the valley,
And the sky is clean like enamel in the spring!
Distant buri, the wind from the mountains is cold,
And the clouds are a transparent shawl in the spring!
Lie in between the rug of spring flowers:
To find the languid sorrow in the spring!
The hunting horn does not beckon lovers to the mountain,
Forgotten are the saber and arquebus in the spring!
Winter separation, go sooner,
Love, your boat is moored, in the spring!
Welcome guests, come, come to the valley
And the heart is again struck by an arrow in the spring!

11

Pistachios are blooming in the garden, sing, nightingale!
Sing the green ravines, nightingale!
There is a carpet of spring poppies on the mountain slopes;
Sheep trudge in a crowd. Sing, nightingale!
Flowers dazzle in the meadows, in the bright meadows!
And clover, and daisies. Sing, nightingale!
Spring gives us all a spring holiday,
From the shah to the bug. Sing, nightingale!
Looking at your cunning eye, your brown eye,
I’m losing at checkers. Sing, nightingale!
We’ll sit on the terrace, we’ll sit the two of us together…
The coffee is steaming in the cup… Sing, nightingale!
But we are waiting for a dark night, we are waiting for a song
Beloved, tender bird. Sing, nightingale!
Press closer to me, press stronger,
Like embroidery on a shirt. Sing, nightingale!

12

It is a holiday, it smells of mint, everything is in bloom,
And the grass is not yet crushed: everything is in bloom!
By the stream on the mountain with a ringing wave
Kids are jumping and frolicking. Everything is in bloom!
The rocks protect my garden, there is no severe cold,
And the forests! and the fields: everything is in bloom!
In the morning I left the house on to the porch -
My heart filled with trembling: everything is in bloom!
I don’t remember, from what I fell in love,
What happens is sacred. Everything is in bloom!

13

Put down your sharp sword, full of languid bliss.
Bare your neck gently, full of languid bliss.
Here is not a battle of warriors, performing in a circle,
Forget your knives, full of languid bliss!
Here is not a dance of drunken cupbearers, with sparkling eyes lighter than glass,
Don’t spin your brown eye, full of languid bliss!
Love, in sweet osculations, the slow laziness of waves,
Like a swell of ripe rye, full of languid bliss!
And in the shuttered peace you will look out into the garden from the window
How the swifts rush by, full of languid bliss!
The evening beam paints your yatagan red on the carpet,
Do not grieve about battles, full of languid bliss!
The tender month will delay us, and for a long time, the morning hour —
Do not tell fortunes about the day, full of languid bliss!
Going over the passionate rows of prayer beads until the morning,
Lie on my chest, full of languid bliss!
I will braid a strong net will the snakes of my hot hands,
Like the Natrix coils up, full of languid bliss.
You will reach the tender raptures, in new wanderings of passion
To the last, to the boundaries, full of languid bliss!
Chains of oaths, I will put garlands of sighs on my heart,
Oh, do not be afraid of lies in love, full of languid bliss!

14

Why, in golden time, are you flying?
Like a horseman, foot in the stirrup, are you flying?
Why, tender hostage, to where,
Throwing away the burden of love, are you flying?
You, winged sower, why,
Sowing the seed of fire, are you flying?

15

Why are you standing, saddened, tender guest?
What burden is placed on your shoulders, tender guest?
Go on your way from us,
If you are not stung by grief, tender guest!
Ah, in the closed hotel — there are three courtyards
For those, who are looking for the tomb, tender guest.
Three cupbearers. The first — white, the name — Death;
The eye is open and the tooth is bared, tender guest.
And the second — the name is Separation — the red overcoat,
It is like a spark from an anvil, tender guest.
The third cupbearer, that — Oblivion, he will pour
Washed with black moisture, tender guest.

16

I hear your cat-like step, the phantom of betrayal!
Again the gloom darkens your eyes, the phantom of betrayal!
And no matter where I go, following me everywhere
On his heels, like a secret enemy, — is the phantom of betrayal!
In the noise of the feast, the dance of bliss, the clatter of weapons,
In a riot of rabid hordes — the phantom of betrayal.
The mountains — naked, the wind — fresh, the deer is quick-footed,
But behind the barking of angry dogs — the phantom of betrayal.
The good night gives sleep to the poor sufferers,
But the sleepy poppy has no power, the phantom of betrayal.
Where, love, is the topaz eye, the memory of armor?
From what am I weak and naked, the phantom of betrayal?

17

I am struck to death by a separation sharper than arrows!
The sea is cut by a felucca sharper than arrows!
The memory of the heart is merciless, go away,
Into a pierced chest do not knock sharper arrows!
The brown glimmer of your topaz eyes
Love shone for me with a guarantee, sharper than arrows.
Kisses, that are like blooming roses,
They burned with divine science, sharper than arrows!
I languish in the day, I do not sleep in the hot night:
The silver-armed month torments, sharper than arrows.
I don’t see beauty in the passers-by
And feasts blow boredom at me, sharper than arrows.
What a cripple, I direct my eyes to the sun,
And legless, and armless — sharper than arrows
Oh, sadness, why is it so cruel to execute
Those already wounded by torment, sharper than arrows.

18

I count the links of the days of love, repeating the dance of torment,
And anguished, everyday I repeat the dance of torment!
Filling, lifting a goblet of dark wine,
I spend my vigil nights, repeating the dance of torment.
Let me hug others, from betrayal I am far, —
I drink only tart oblivion, repeating the dance of torment!
Why, neighbors, are you looking at me reproachfully?
I am rushing in my whirl, repeating the dance of torment.
Separation and merging — in turns of languid poses;
Mottled stones shine, repeating the dance of torment.
And I descend powerlessly into hyacinth rugs,
I fall only with my eyes, repeating the dance of torment.
Who doesn't love, come, look at me,
To understand the teaching of love, repeating the dance of torment.

19

I go to the bazaars out of longing: what do I care about them!
Guslars will not dispel my boredom: what do I care about them!
Muslin, like clouds of evening dawns, a sewn barkan…
As if without eyes, I look at the goods: what do I care about them!
The blue bone of people in love, you, turquoise,
From you fires burn in hearts: what do I care about them!
And the Damascus dagger no longer beckons: time has passed,
That the blows ran with joy: what do I care about them!
You will buy a hundred Houris at the market, there would be a wallet,
Ah, Zuleikhas, Fatimas and Gulnars: what do I care about them!
Don’t call me, familiar merchant, — am I a debonair?
The shalwars from Bukhara are good: what do I care about them!

20

Golden scarlet — the brilliance of pheasants in the mountain slopes!
Your kisses are not forgotten on the mountain slopes!
The hunting horn sounds invitingly in the silence.
How to flee your torments on the mountain slopes!
A light dart is aimed accurately at the running of tigresses,
Blood will pump from those stabbings in the mountain slopes.
Let the tongue, touching, lick the edge —
Vain is the fury of those licks on the mountain slopes.
The cry of eagles in forestless steeps, the screeching of arrows,
The intoxication of obstinate contests in the mountain slopes!
Where is my captive? I call out to you, tender captive!
What do I care about the sweetness of orders in the mountain slopes?
Mountain wind, give back the strength of my muscles to me
The net is torn by love knitting on the mountain slopes.
Night, come down with your coolness on my chest:
The power of love is more and more unspeakable on the mountain slopes!
I am lying, like a Pard, pierced by a rock.
The burden of punishment is heavy on the mountain slopes!

21

In the summer, the pool welcomes us with splashing splashes!
Each of the hollows sparkles with splashing splashes!
Laziness has set in on a languid afternoon: refresh yourself —
Like a handful of light hailstones — splashing splashes?
We will not go to the pond, sprinkling —
Far from the swampy serpents — splashing splashes!
Ah, the riverbed of bliss has dried up, oh, when
Will I get drunk, greedy for kisses, splashing splashes?
And when I, the poor wanderer, heal
The heat of sick road abrasions splashing splashes?
Meet the stream, leap freely, just as before,
(O, don’t be so merciless!) splashing splashes!

22

Obnoxious wind, don’t you howl in winter:
And without you I am not myself in winter!
I am divorced from the summer, from warmth I am divorced,
Divorced from springtime turquoise in winter!
I am dressed in mourning, my turban is loose,
And a clock with a lilac border in the winter.
Crackling, a bonfire from dry woodchips. Oh, the heart,
Is the sun not a reflection of golden winter?
Am I able, in a casket with a patterned lock
To save the spring and half a day of heat in winter.
Wax seals — fragile. The key of kisses,
Quickly penetrate into the castle in the cutting winter!
Separation will not calm the blood; it will calm
Only under the tombstone in winter!

23

When will I hear the birds singing: “With you again!”?
And the voice of the doves will say: “With you again!”?
And again the hunting horn sounds, a pack of dogs,
And hidden fox holes: “With you again!”
The eagle screams, the stream roars — all about one thing, —
And the sun shines, and the brilliance of heat lighting: “With you again!”
Flowers are blooming floridly in the meadows — the royal carpet —
A crown of love, the wreath of queens — “With you again!”
Topaz eyes, pink mouth are with me again
And the arrows — ah! — golden eyelashes! With you again!
I call: “Leave the cave darkness, O Jinn! The spell is strong!
In the dark, in the fire, dressed or naked! The spell is strong!
I have removed the seal from the doors of your caves, the secret signs;
Crawl to my feet like a bent slave! The spell is strong!
Become smoke, a fish, a lion, a snake, a wife, a sweet boy:
Your game is aimless change. The spell is strong!
I can send you wherever I want, you have to fly,
Otherwise you will befall a new captivity. The spell is strong!
There is no need for a kingdom, treasure, and victories: let me see
Someone who is a stranger to betrayal. The spell is strong!
O torch of the eye, body of vine, mouth, is it you I see?
Enough, Jinn, your sleep is blessed.
The spell is strong!”

25 {*}

He came in linen clothes, white in white!
“How milky is the whiteness, white in white!”
The look in his eyes is languid, the eyelids are heavy.
The rose of the cheeks is barely visible: “White in white,
Why do you walk by without a smile?
My life is given to you, white in white!”
He replied: “Be silent, look: the work of God!”
My whiteness is lucid: white in white.
White — body, white — outfit, my face is pale,
And my fate is pale; white in white!

26

He came, threats of melting, red in red,
And he shouted, embarrassed, then I: “Red in red!
Before he was paler than the moon, what now
The roses redden, the blood of grief, red in red?”
Clothed in a crimson outfit, a wonderful guest
Smiled, so to speak, red in red:
“Here I am dressed in the flame of the sun. The flame — furious.
Before the cloak was given by dawn. Red in red.
Cheeks — a flame, my cloak is red, flame — lips,
He will give the wine that burns fire, red in red!”

27

The shoulders are hidden by a black robe. Black in black.
And he stands, staring without speech, black in black.
I said to him: “Look, the envious enemy rejoices,
That I am deprived of the previous meeting, black in black!
I see, I see: the gloom of clothes, a black ringlet —
Black death’s forerunner, black in black!”

28

What praises you deserve, Iskander!
You founded the great city Iskander!
Like the wind in the sky, the path passed to the East
And tore apart the old knot, Iskander!
Having driven the two rulers into the cave forever,
Enchanted their bonds in her, Iskander!
Led, like a wave, by an order of the eternal wills,
Was strong among women’s veils, Iskander.
You — free maelstrom, the warrior of the eastern gate,
Oxen gaze, moon’s oval, Iskander!
The whole world is in captivity: with love a candle in your right hand
You entered my secret basement, Iskander.
Your appearance is frightening, your face is silent, o marvelous!
Did you nod at me like an enemy or a leader, Iskander?
Copper desires, iron wills, warrior,
You have forged everything in your sword, Iskander.
Wizard of light, are you silent? forever
No one called you like me, Iskander!

29

Having looked at the dark cypress, shed a tear, you who loved!
Be you a day laborer, be you Hafiz, shed a tear, you who loved!
The trunk of a pillar turns white in the shade, the peace guard is strong,
The ends of the turban went down; shed a tear, you who love!
A gentle swarm of doves coo, not disturbing the peace,
A sacred verse wrapped around the cornice, shed a tear, you who love.
Here the heart, the traveler, sleeps peacefully: it is love lived:
This is how rice satiates a beggar; shed a tear, you who love!
No matter who you are, as you walk, sigh; almost love, passer by
And, devoutly throwing a narcissus, shed a tear, you who love!
Will anyone come to the grave with an overgrown path
In the silent sorrow of the dark robes? shed a tear, you who love.

30

In the ghazal’s chest I put a wreath of springs.
You accept him as a king, a wreath of springs.
Count my songs, — you’ll count the years,
What gives you, as in old days, a wreath of springs.
Yakhont roses — days of love, the separation of time —
Yellow crocuses amber — a wreath of springs.
Kohl is happy — kiss me, when you are not enough -
Strike me in the heart with your gaze, a wreath of springs.
I was wrong, I only counted the dates,
Where I was your secretary, a wreath of springs.
Don’t furrow your brow: after all, my chest has a double lid
To make the calendar longer, a wreath of springs!

Translated by Jennifer Daria Hadawi