All that was in the soul, all was lost again;
I lay down in the grass, sad and bored,
And a flower lifted its lovely form above me,
A grasshopper standing in front of it on guard.
Then I opened the weighty volume I had before me,
And on the first page saw a drawing of a plant.
Black, dead, the truth of the flower reached out
From the book towards nature — or was it the lie it contained?
And the flower, surprised, gazed at its reflection,
Tried to absorb its strange and alien wisdom.
A tremor of thought, unwonted, passed through its leaves,
In an effort of will that cannot be conveyed.
And the grasshopper raised its trumpet, and nature awoke —
The wistful creature sang a Gloria to the mind.
And in my old book the flower's likeness stirred,
So that my heart stirred too and moved towards it.
Все, что было в душе, все как будто опять потерялось,
И лежал я в траве, и печалью и скукой томим.
И прекрасное тело цветка надо мной поднималось,
И кузнечик, как маленький сторож, стоял перед ним.
И тогда я открыл свою книгу в большом переплете,
Где на первой странице растения виден чертеж.
И черна и мертва, протянулась от книги к природе
То ли правда цветка, то ли в нем заключенная ложь.
И цветок с удивленьем смотрел на свое отраженье
И как будто пытался чужую премудрость понять.
Трепетело в листах непривычное мысли движенье,
То усилие воли, которое не передать.
И кузнечик трубу свою поднял, и природа внезапно проснулась.
И запела печальная тварь славословье уму,
И подобье цветка в старой книги моей шевельнулось
Так, что сердце мое шевельнулось навстречу ему.
«I must he ill, of course. I’ve been shivering / for three days now like a horse before the races. / Even the haughty man who lives on my landing / has said as much to me: / Bella, you’re shaking! / / Please control yourself, this strange disease of yours / is rocking the walls, it...»
«1 All morning I’ve had this Rain around me. / Rudely, I kept on saying: Leave me alone! / So it drew back, but soon there it was again / as sad and loving as a little daughter. Rain. On my back. Stuck there like a wing. / I reproached it: Here, you / shameless, useless thing! / Think...»
«Your house, all without feeling of misfortune, / Has met me and has smacked me on my cheek. / As if a fish out from water, / Behind the glass looked a tea service. / A dog has leaped out to me, / As small jackdaw, and yelling, / Defenseless burs, all with thorn's heap, / Were sitting t...»
«Avenues so wretched, / snowbanks, bitter frost. / Desperate little urchins / with trays of cigarettes. / Wandering dirty avenues, / enjoying evil games – / all of them are pickpockets, / all are jolly thieves. / That bunch takes Nikitskaya, / this – Tverskaya Square. / They s...»