I have forgotten what is in my hands:
A heart, a hat, or a cane?
In the gardens of the Lord
Grape bunches ripen.
Ahead the cry: "don't,"
Behind: "return."
All that is quiet is the path
Leading upwards.
Shouldn't I follow it?
Maybe, if no sin is committed,
On the azure path
The soul will become a bird.
Позабыл, что в руках:
Сердце, шляпа иль трость?..
Зреет в Отчих садах
Виноградная гроздь.
Впереди крик: «нельзя»,
Позади: «воротись».
И тиха лишь стезя,
Уходящая ввысь.
Не по ней ли идти?
Может быть, не греша,
На лазурном пути
Станет птицей душа.
«Don’t berate me! It just so happens — / I'm no type to sell words off-rack. / Golden head of mine, growing heavy, / Has reclined altogether back. Neither town nor the country endear me: / That my love should have still been true! / I’ll quit everything. Grow a beard, / And move of...»
«I will not deceive myself, admitting / I have worries in my heart, so dreary. / Why am I reputed as a cheating / Crook and trouble-maker, really? / / I am not a villain nor a thief in hiding, / And I never shot imprisoned convicts. / I am just a thoughtless idler, smiling / Friendl...»
«They carouse, fight and sob again ‘ere / To harmonika’s yellowish rues. / They bad-mouth again their failures, / Reminiscing the Muscovy Russ. I myself, engrossed head over ears, / Am diluting my eyes with hard drinks / So as never to notice the lethal, / And to dream about differe...»
«Sing, old man, to the bloody guitar, and / Let your fingers show natural bent. / I would choke in this drunken enchantment / You"re my last and my only friend. / / Don"t you look at her wrist and the blooming / Silky shawl hanging down her head. / I was looking for joy in this woman ...»