Don’t let your worldly soul get lazy!
Lest it sit twiddling its thumbs
Your soul must work like it's a navvy
Day after day, night after night!
Make so it go from door to door,
Drag it from one top onto another
Along a path - all ruts and holes,
Over a pass with snow covered!
Don't let it stay in bed, when seeing
The early morning sunshine ray,
Do keep your tightest rein on it,
And treat the loafer like a slave.
But if you cut your soul some slack
And let it shirk from daily chores,
The last shirt off your own back
It will then steal with no remorse.
If so, just grab it by the shoulders,
Go teach it and nag it till the end,
So that to behave like humans
Your soul will have to learn again.
It’s both a slave girl and a queen,
It’s both a worker and your child
It must work on a strict routine
Day after day, night after night!
Не позволяй душе лениться!
Чтоб в ступе воду не толочь,
Душа обязана трудиться
И день и ночь, и день и ночь!
Гони ее от дома к дому,
Тащи с этапа на этап,
По пустырю, по бурелому,
Через сугроб, через ухаб!
Не разрешай ей спать в постели
При свете утренней звезды,
Держи лентяйку в черном теле
И не снимай с нее узды!
Коль дать ей вздумаешь поблажку,
Освобождая от работ,
Она последнюю рубашку
С тебя без жалости сорвет.
А ты хватай ее за плечи,
Учи и мучай дотемна,
Чтоб жить с тобой по-человечьи
Училась заново она.
Она рабыня и царица,
Она работница и дочь,
Она обязана трудиться
И день и ночь, и день и ночь!
«Breathing is forbidden, heaven teems / with worms — and not a star to testify — / but God sees, there is music overhead, / the station shivers, the Aonides are singing, / once again, the violins — their air fused — merging / with explosions of the locomotives’ whistles. An enorm...»
«Don't fall, my little star, keep shining, / Keep dropping chilly beams of light. / There is no living heart abiding / Up there beyond the grave-yard site. / / And from you beam you bring us summer / And fill the fields with rye and hay / And with a thrilling wistful clamour / Of cra...»
«Upon the cobbles / of my foot-clobbered soul, / the steps of loonies / twine their grinding rhymes. / Where the towns / are hung / and in the nooses of clouds / the crooked necks of towers / are wrung, / I start to cry / because / by the crossroads / the cops are crucified.»
«Please Listen! / If stars are lit, / it is something / that somebody needs? / Someone wants them / To be and to last, / Even calls them pearls, those specs of spit. / And suffocating / In the blizzards of midday dust, / He bursts in on God, / afraid it's too late to s...»