The coachman sits like a king,
Wadded in armor, on a throne,
Spade-bearded like an icon,
Ringing with chain mail of coins.
And the poor horse flutters its arms,
Stretching like a coney fish,
Or, once more, flashing its eight legs
From out its gleaming belly.
Сидит извозчик, как на троне,
Из ваты сделана броня,
И борода, как на иконе,
Лежит, монетами звеня.
А бедный конь руками машет,
То вытянется, как налим,
То снова восемь ног сверкают
В его блестящем животе.
«The grass is deep and damp / when you step off the porch. / I’m holding another’s son, / the image of his father. I hold him clumsily / and high, and say: “Look there! / Do you see the boat / that is all blue inside! “We’ll open my table drawer, / and take some nuts and can...»
«In that month of May, that month of mine, / I felt so easy and so light, / and, spreading above the earth, / the flying weather drew me after. I was so generous, so generous, / in the joyous foretaste of much song, / and as light-headed as a goldfinch, / I dipped my feathers in the air....»
«Don’t give me all of your time, / don’t question me so often. / With eyes so true and faithful / don’t try and catch my hands. Don’t follow in the Spring / my steps through pools of rain. / I know that of our meeting / nothing will come again. You think it’s pride that makes ...»
«We now observe the rules of winter, / and on the snow impose design / and, in play restraining laughter, / we scoop the white snow from the ground. And then, as if foreseeing ill, / pedestrians crowd about the fence; / an anxious question gnaws at them: / what are they doing, this odd c...»