Read only what children would read,
and dream what children think matters;
once the great things lie scattered,
shake off grief and rise to your feet.
Existence exhausts me to death —
oh nothing it owns is of worth.
But I love this desolate earth:
I’ve never known any place else.
In that distant garden, I’d rock
on a wooden swing. I recall
how the spruces were dark and tall
in the delirium of the fog.
Только детские книги читать,
Только детские думы лелеять,
Все большое далеко развеять,
Из глубокой печали восстать.
Я от жизни смертельно устал,
Ничего от нее не приемлю,
Но люблю мою бедную землю
Оттого, что иной не видал.
Я качался в далеком саду
На простой деревянной качели,
И высокие темные ели
Вспоминаю в туманном бреду.
«The quilt / Ran away! / Away flew the sheet! And the pillow, / Like a frog, / Leaped down the street! I reached for the light – / The light, too, / Took flight! And my book / ‘Bout Dick Ned / Shuddered, / And sped / Way under my bed! I went to pour some tea – / But th...»
«Part One Bears went to the hike / A-riding on a bike. Then came Tom-the-Cat, / Back-to-front he sat. Spry mosquitoes drifted by / In a big balloon on high. Lobsters looked like shrimps / On a dog that limps. Wolves were mounted on a horse. / Lions drove in cars, of course. Hares in p...»
«You are but millions. Our unnumbered nations / Are as the sands upon the sounding shore. / We are the Scythians! We are the slit-eyed Asians! / Try to wage war with us — you'll try no more! You've had whole centuries. We — a single hour. / Like serfs obedient to their feudal lord, / W...»
«“Pan-Mongolism — though the word is strange, / My ear acclaims its gongs.” / — Vladimir Solovyov. You are the millions, we are multitude / And multitude and multitude. / Come, fight! Yea, we are Scythians, / Yea, Asians, a squint-eyed, greedy brood. / / For you: the centu...»