In crystal swampland there is such a violence!
Beyond, Sienian mountains stand sky-clad,
Gothic cathedrals of the rocks gone mad
Hang in the air, where there is fur and silence.
From hanging staircases of kings and prophets
Organ descends, filled with the holy ghost,
Barking of German shepherds, fierce repose,
The shepherds' mutton and the judges' outfits.
Here earth is motionless, and in her castle
I drink the Christendom's dear cold air
I trust in wine and in the psalmist's prayer,
In keys and cloth of churches of Apostle.
Which line could have passed on the Crystal vase
Fastened within an ether of high notes:
And like a song of Palestine the goodwill floats
From Christian Mountain through the transfixed space.
В хрустальном омуте какая крутизна!
За нас сиенские предстательствуют горы,
И сумасшедших скал колючие соборы
Повисли в воздухе, где шерсть и тишина.
С висячей лестницы пророков и царей
Спускается орган, Святого Духа крепость,
Овчарок бодрый лай и добрая свирепость,
Овчины пастухов и посохи судей.
Вот неподвижная земля, и вместе с ней
Я христианства пью холодный горный воздух,
Крутое «Верую» и псалмопевца роздых,
Ключи и рубища апостольских церквей.
Какая линия могла бы передать
Хрусталь высоких нот в эфире укрепленном,
И с христианских гор в пространстве изумленном,
Как Палестрины песнь, нисходит благодать.
«The infinite passing of time is much quieter / Than every tiptoed walk. / Work in great secret and rustle, like mice, / Gears in our clock. The sly time just playing with very one minute, / No golden coins it takes. / But suddenly, in its account appear / Hours, seasons and ages. A ...»
«A forest goes black when touched by warmth, / Moistered by the wet of spring. / As pearles on threads are shivering a lot — / The drops of water in the wind. The buds of the round bells are closed / And are tough and solid. / But sun uncovers the aureolas / Of that bellflowers of spri...»
«There lived an absent-minded lad, / Whom on Basseynaya street we met / / In the morning, on his bed, / He, when putting on his shirt, / In the sleeves then placed his arms — / Sleeves turned out to be his pants. / / Such an absent-minded lad / There once lived in Basseynaya str...»
«How proud and festive the parade, / The thundering trumpets lead the way, / And lines of soldiers in array / Follow one another. His wife is joyful like a bride, / His daughter watches full of pride, / Only his mother turns aside: / "Where are you going, mother?" The silent guns have l...»