Osip Mandelshtam
On the black square of the Kremlin...

On the black square of the Kremlin
the air is drunk with mutiny.
A shaky ‘peace’ is rocked by rebels,
the poplars puff seditiously.

The wax faces of the cathedrals
and the dense forest of the bells
tell us — inside the stony rafters
a tongueless brigand is concealed.

But inside the sealed-up cathedrals
the air we breathe is cool and dark,
as though a Russian wine is coursing
through Greece’s earthenware jars.

Assumption’s paradise of arches
soars up in an astonished curve;
and now the green Annunciation
awakens, cooing like a dove.

The Archangel and Resurrection
let in the light like glowing palms —
everything is secretly burning,
the jugs are full of hidden flames. 

Translated by Thomas de Waal