Love neighbors as thyself, they say...
But me myself despise.
While yearning for ethereal,
I see my truths and lies.
And if I ever loved someone,
I only had in mind
To find the innocence of heart,
A ray of truth divine.
But after sobering from dreams,
In foreign souls I saw
The mirrored passions of my whims,
The stain of all my flaws,
My own lies, the shame of all my trials.
And while for all I equally bemoan,
I hate them all,
As I despise my own.
Любить других, как самого себя...
Но сам себя презреньем я караю.
Какой-то сон божественный любя,
В себе и ложь и правду презираю.
И если человека я любил,
То лишь в надежде смутной и чудесной
Найти в другом луч истины небесной,
Невинность сердца, мыслей чистых пыл.
Но каждый раз, очнувшись от мечтаний,
В чужой душе все глубже и ясней
Я прозревал клеймо своих страстей,
Свою же ложь, позор своих страданий.
И всех людей, равно за всех скорбя,
Я не люблю, как самого себя.
«The one people once called / King in jest, God in fact, / Who was killed, and whose implement of torture / Was heated by the warmth of my breast... / The disciples of Christ tasted death, / And the old gossips, and the soldiers, / And the procurator from Rome — all gone. / There, whe...»
«Oh, to hell with this storm, damn this snow and hail – / pounding on the rooftop, driving in white nails! / But me – I’m not frightened, and I know my fate: / my wastrel heart has nailed me to you – nailed us tight! »
«There are such easy ways / to leave this life, / to burn to an end / without pain or thought, / but a Russian poet / has no such luck. / A bullet is more likely / to show his winged soul / the way to Heaven; / or else the shaggy paw / of voiceless terror will squeeze / the life...»
«One by one we all are now departing / For realms where silence and beatitude abide. / And I as well, perhaps, will soon be starting / To pack my bag and baggage for the ride. Dear groves of oak and birches so resplendent, / And you, O earth! You too, sand-laden plains! / In parting with t...»