Osip Mandelshtam
Foreigner sits in a stifling tavern...

Foreigner sits in a stifling tavern
In the hour when all seems dead,
Leaving behind the dullard drunkards
I walk out and clear my head.

Courage of the midnight women
And the crazy stars' cold might,
And a bum is begging money
For a room to spend the night.

Who, please tell me, in this moment
With the grape will dull my wits,
If the dock is work of Peter
Copper horseman, granite streets.

I hear signals from the fortress
I feel warmth drift from the sea.
Shots of cannon through the cellars
Have been ringing probably.

And much deeper than the ringing
Of that inflamed head on me
Are the stars, stark conversation,
And a Nieva westerly.

Translated by Ilya Shambat