[after S. Galkin]
The autumn world is sensibly ordered
And inhabited.
Enter, be quiet in the heart of things,
Like this maple.
And if dust covers you momentarily,
Don't be alarmed.
Let the dew from dawn fields
Wash your leaves.
When thunder breaks out over the world
And a windstorm rages,
Your slender trunk is forced to bend
Towards the ground.
And even falling into a fatal weariness
From such torments,
Be silent, my friend, like this
Autumn tree.
Don't forget, it will straighten again,
It isn't bowed,
For the autumn maple is made wiser
By the earth's wisdom.
(Из С. Галкина)
Осенний мир осмысленно устроен
И населен.
Войди в него и будь душой спокоен,
Как этот клен.
И если пыль на миг тебя покроет,
Не помертвей.
Пусть на заре листы твои умоет
Роса полей.
Когда ж гроза над миром разразится
И ураган,
Они заставят до земли склониться
Твой тонкий стан.
Но даже впав в смертельную истому
От этих мук,
Подобно древу осени простому,
Смолчи, мой друг.
Не забывай, что выпрямится снова,
Не искривлен,
Но умудрен от разума земного,
Осенний клен.
«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...»