Let the names of flowery cities
Caress the ear with fleeting glory —
It is not Rome the city that’s immortal,
But man’s presence in the universe.
Kings try to get man in their power,
Priests find excuses for their wars,
And yet without him hearths and altars
Like wretched rubble are beneath contempt.
Пусть имена цветущих городов
Ласкают слух значительностью бренной.
Не город Рим живет среди веков,
А место человека во вселенной.
Им овладеть пытаются цари,
Священники оправдывают войны,
И без него презрения достойны,
Как жалкий сор, дома и алтари.
«Always a slave, but with the birthplace of kings on / a swarthy chest. / And a state seal in exchange for / an earring. / A young woman with a sword, who never conceived, / Or a midwife — the crone of mutin...»
«I The Sayan rolls with one swell after another, / And with shores of chalk. / Here, is the brooding of the past, / Where time has turned numb. / Above, with a vast blanket, / The sails rustle ominously, / A shuttle boat perturbs the second / Sky of the river with its hulk bottom. / ...»
«1 I break the layered rocks / In the hour when the silty day / Is moulded, and my tired mule carries / The weighty lumps on its shaggy back. We carry them to the railroad, / Put them in a heap, — and to the sea again / The hairy legs lead us, / And the mule starts braying. And it br...»
«The city took off its wintery things. / The snows turned slobbery. / Spring has come again, / foolish and loose-tongued / as an army cadet.»