Barely swaying
At a point where the winds cross,
Light birds hung
Like icon lamps amid the heavens.
Their tiny telescopic eyes
Peered straight down.
People crawled like bed-bugs,
And brooks meandered.
A mouse ran across a field,
And a bird pounced on it.
The little corpse, instantly disfigured,
Was dragged into the reeds.
And sitting there, the bird
Tore the mouse with its fingers,
And from its mouth a stream of water
Flowed onto the ground.
And shifting the tiny telescopes
Of its dimmed eyes,
The bird thought. A tarantas
Came rolling over the hill.
I was sitting in that tarantas,
As it sped across the field,
And my own wretched fate
Weighed on my heart as well.
Колыхаясь еле-еле
Всем ветрам наперерез,
Птицы легкие висели,
Как лампады средь небес.
Их глаза, как телескопики,
Смотрели прямо вниз.
Люди ползали, как клопики,
Источники вились.
Мышь бежала возле пашен,
Птица падала на мышь.
Трупик, вмиг обезображен,
Убираем был в камыш.
В камышах сидела птица,
Мышку пальцами рвала,
Изо рта ее водица
Струйкой на землю текла.
И сдвигая телескопики
Своих потухших глаз,
Птица думала. На холмике
Катился тарантас.
Тарантас бежал по полю,
В тарантасе я сидел
И своих несчастий долю
Тоже на сердце имел.
«The rain is sweeping / Willow litter about the meadows. / Wind, replete with fagots of leaves, — / I am a hooligan, like you. I like it when the blue thickets, / As oxen with a heavy trudge, / Muddy their trunks, on their knees. / Their bellies rattling with foliage. Here it is, my o...»
«I am the last poet of the village, / The plank bridge is modest in its songs. / I am standing for the farewell mass / Of the birch trees incensing with their foliage. The candle of the waxen flesh / Will burn away with a golden flame, / And the moon's wooden clock / Will wheeze my twelf...»
«Shaganet, o my love, Shaganet! / You will know because I am Nordic; / I can tell you a meadow, most scenic, / Moonlit rye waves one cannot forget. / Shaganet, o my love, Shaganet, You will know because I am Nordic; / So bright shines the moon out there / That it may outglow any glare / ...»
«Here is this happiness — silly — / Windows looking out to the lawn. / The sunset is peaceful, it’s gliding / On the lake like a scarlet-necked swan. Greetings to you, golden stillness, / The birch, white and svelte as a stork. / Over the roof, a flock of jackdaws / Tends vespers t...»