Eagles and butterflies (and some other things)
Still live. Let's leave them in peace.
And clouds. Don't disturb them either.
Let there be you and I, two umbrellas and the rain.
And if everything gets broken, there'll be nothing,
And people have broken so much inside.
Орлы и бабочки (и кое-что другое)
Еще живут. Оставим их в покое.
И облака. Их тоже не тревожь.
Пусть будут ты да я, два зонтика и дождь.
А если всё сломать, то ничего не будет,
И так уж многое внутри сломали люди.
«Did for this, and for this only, / In my arms I carry you, / Did for this the strength of will flash / In your gorgeous eyes of blue? Tall and elegant you've grown, / You sang songs, Madeira drank, / To the far-off Anatolia / You have driven your mine tank. On the Malahov's kurgan / ...»
«Give me bitter years in malady / Breathlessness, sleeplessness, fever, / Both a friend and a child and mysterious / Gift take away forever — / Thus I pray after your liturgy / After many exhausting days, / That the cloud over dark Russia / Become cloud in the glory of rays.»
«"Where is your gypsy boy, tall one, / That over black kerchief did weep, / Where is your small first child / What memory of him do you keep?" "Mother's role is a sweet torture, / I was not worthy of it. / The gate dissolved into white heaven, / Magdalene took the kid. "Each day for me ...»
«How often did I curse / This sky, this earth as well, / The slowly waving arms / Of this ancient windmill. / In a wing there lies a dead man, / Straight and grayhaired, on a bench, / As he did three years ago. / Thus the mice whet with their teeth / Books, and thus the stearine candl...»