Poems by Nikolay Tikhonov
1919
1921
- Fire and rope, bullet and axe...
- Our rooms are turned to rolling wagons...
- We have unlearned how to give alms, forgotten...
«In the green church beyond the hill, / Where the willows dropped their rosaries, / I commemorate with the prosphora / Of juvenile spring the tales of youth. And you, bowing down / In front of me, stand invisibly, / The silks of lowered eyelashes / Make the wings of cherubim flap. Your ...»
«Fog covered the distance, / The moon combs the clouds. / Red evening behind the fish string / Spreads a curly drag net. Under the window, the wind / Oversang through slippy willows. / Quiet gloom, a warm angel, / Slaked by foreign light. The izba’s slumber, effortlessly, sows / Par...»
«The day is gone, the line diminished, / And I again edge to the exit. / With a slight sweep of the white finger / I cut through the secret of ages. In the blue stream of my fate / The cold scum beats and froths, / And the seal of mute bondage / Adds a new wrinkle near the puckered lip. ...»
«Ah, what a blizzard, be damned! / Driving white nails into the roof. / Only I’m not afraid, and in my fate / With a scampish heart I’m nailed to you.»