I’ll tell you bluntly
One last time:
It’s only maddening cherry brandy,
Angel mine!
Where the Greeks saw just their raped
Beauty’s fame,
At me through black holes gaped
Only shame.
But the Greeks hauled Helen home
In their ships.
Here a smidgen of salty foam
Flecks my lips.
What rubs my lips and leaves no trace?
Vacancy.
What thrusts a finger in my face?
Vagrancy.
Quickly, wholly, or slowly as a snail,
All the same,
Mary angel, drink your cocktail,
Down your wine.
I’ll tell you bluntly
One last time:
It’s only maddening cherry brandy,
Angel mine!
Ma voix aigre et fausse...
P. Verlain
[Мой голос пронзительный и фальшивый...
П. Верлен (фр.).]
Я скажу тебе с последней
Прямотой:
Всё лишь бредни — шерри-бренди, —
Ангел мой.
Там, где эллину сияла
Красота,
Мне из чёрных дыр зияла
Срамота.
Греки сбондили Елену
По волна́м,
Ну, а мне — солёной пеной
По губам.
По губам меня помажет
Пустота,
Строгий кукиш мне покажет
Нищета.
Ой ли, так ли, дуй ли, вей ли —
Всё равно;
Ангел Мэри, пей коктейли,
Дуй вино.
Я скажу тебе с последней
Прямотой:
Всё лишь бредни — шерри-бренди, —
Ангел мой.
«Falling snow leaves the world outnumbered. / At such times, the Pinkertons lose their mind, / and you catch yourself wherever you’ve wandered / by the prints that you've left behind. / Don’t expect a reward, this will not get you far; / the precinct’s din is reduced to naught. / ...»
«I was but what you’d brush / with your palm, what your leaning / brow would hunch to in evening’s / raven-black hush. I was but what your gaze / in that dark could distinguish: / a dim shape to begin with, / later — features, a face. It was you, on my right, / on my left, with ...»
«I’ve raised a statue to myself that’s some! / To shameful century’s its back to run. / To its lost love that’s turned with stony face. / Like cycle wheel is bent its stony chest. / And buttocks is to sea of half-truth faced. / And if I would with nice landscape well dressed, / Wh...»
«In villages God does not live only / in icon corners, as the scoffers claim, / but plainly, everywhere. He sanctifies / each roof and pan, divides each double door. / In villages God acts abundantly- / cooks lentils in iron pots on Saturdays, / dances a lazy jig in flickering flames, / ...»