Olga Bergholz
- Well, I know — in a stone house..., by Lyudmila Purgina
Олга Бергголц (български)
- Зная, зная — в сграда каменна..., Красимир Георгиев
«To N. Gumilyov Above the yellow Offices of State / A muzzy blizzard long swirled and fanned, / And mounting in a sleigh, an advocate / Closes his greatcoat with expansive hand. The steamers at winter moorings. In the sun / The thickened glass of cabins has caught alight. / Monstrous, lik...»
«We look at woods and say: / Here is a forest of ships and of masts, / The pink pines / Stand free to their tops from mossy accretions, / They should creak in a storm / As do lone-standing stone pines / In the infuriated foresdess air; / Beneath the salty heel of wind the plumb line sta...»
«I’ll chase through the gypsy camp of dark streets / After a spray of cherries in a black spring carriage / After its hood of snow and endless windmill creak. I only recall the rimfire of chestnut curls / Smoked over with bitterness, no, with sour formic acid; / They left an amber dryness ...»
«Last night I tell you, I do not lie, / Up to the waist in melting snow, / I struggled from some strange railway halt. / I saw a hut and entered in: / Black monks were drinking tea and salt / While a gypsy girl made up to them. At the bedhead all the while / She kept on beckoning with he...»