They bring a bouquet of thistles
And put it on the table.
Before me, a fire, a turmoil.
The purple dance of flames.
These sharp-pointed stars,
These splashes of northern lights.
Tambourines thunder and moan.
Lanterns burst from inside.
This too is a way of making worlds,
An organism woven of light.
It is the heat of unfinished battles,
Raised swords ablaze.
These are towers of fury and of glory
Where spear leans on spear,
Where bunches of flowers are bloodyheaded
And cut right into my heart.
I dreamed of a high prison
And bars black as night.
Behind them — a fairytale bird,
That one for whom there is no help.
I too, it seems, live badly
For I have not the strength to help.
And the wall of thistles rises
Between me and my joy.
The wedge of the thorn reaches
For my breast. Surely for the last time
The sad and beautiful glance
Of her inextinguishable eyes
Beckons to me.
Принесли букет чертополоха
И на стол поставили, и вот
Предо мной пожар, и суматоха,
И огней багровый хоровод.
Эти звезды с острыми концами,
Эти брызги северной зари
И гремят и стонут бубенцами,
Фонарями вспыхнув изнутри.
Это тоже образ мирозданья,
Организм, сплетенный из лучей,
Битвы неоконченной пыланье,
Полыханье поднятых мечей,
Это башня ярости и славы,
Где к копью приставлено копье,
Где пучки цветов, кровавоглавы,
Прямо в сердце врезаны мое.
Снилась мне высокая темница
И решетка, черная, как ночь,
За решеткой — сказочная птица,
Та, которой некому помочь.
Но и я живу, как видно, плохо,
Ибо я помочь не в силах ей.
И встает стена чертополоха
Между мной и радостью моей.
И простерся шип клинообразный
В грудь мою, и уж в последний раз
Светит мне печальный и прекрасный
Взор ее неугасимых глаз.
«Enter bringing me a dream, / or some gorgeousness from hell, / or bring me God if you're from Him, / but little acts of meaning well, / leave on the hatstand in the hall. / Here on this pea we call the earth, / either be angel or be demon, / but to be human — what's the worth / of ...»
«The stopper in the iodine / has rotted from the strength inside, / the way the soul will burn unseen / and eat the flesh it's occupied.»
«Lady's washed her hands so long, / Lady's scrubbed her hands so hard, / and this lady won't forget / the blood around the neck. Lady, lady! Like a bird / you twitch about your sleepless bed. / Three hundred years you've had no sleep — / and six years now I've stayed awake.»
«now we place gold in your mouth, and we place poppy and honey in your hands. Salve aeternum. / — Krasinski A gold coin in the mouth; hands full of poppy and honey: / these are the final gifts of your earthly businesses. And don’t let them incinerate me like a Roman: — / I want to tast...»