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.
«1 Along these singing lines that run / from pole to pole, supporting heaven, / I send along to you my portion / of earthly dust. / From wires / to poles. This alley sighs / the telegraphic words: I lo-o-ve... I beg. (No printed form would / hold th...»
«8 Patiently, as tarmac under hammers, / patiently, as what is new matures, / patiently, as death must be awaited, / patiently, as vengeance may be nursed — So I shall wait for you. (One look down to earth. / Cobblestones. Lips between teeth. And numb.) / Patiently, as sloth can be prol...»
«Young men, don’t ride away! Sand / stifled the soul of the / last one to disappear and now / he’s altogether dumb. To look for him is useless. / (Young men, I never lie.) / That lost one now reposes / in a reliable grave. He once rode into me as if / through lands of / miracles...»
«1 A poet’s speech begins a great way off. / A poet is carried far away by speech by way of planets, signs, and the ruts / of roundabout parables, between yes and no, / in his hands even sweeping gestures from a bell-tower / become hook-like. For the way of comets is the poet’s way. An...»