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.
«We are so bound up in discord / The centuries cannot disentangle us — / I’m a warlock, you’re a wolf. We’re close / In the continuous dictionary of earth. Shoulder to shoulder, like the blind, / And led along by destiny, / In the undying dictionary of this country / We’re both...»
«A German machinegunner will shoot me in the road, or / An incendiary bomb will break my legs, or An SS-kid will give me a bullet in the gut. / In any case, on this front, they’ve got me covered. Without my name, or glory, or even boots, / With frozen eyes I’ll gaze at the snow, blood-col...»
«The Lethe’s wind is blowing over me / With anodyne and slow beatitude. / “Where should I with such a muteness be, / When the perfection is so blind and rude.” Being exhausted, deathly granite grows / Silent and cold over the darkling water / “It’s time, my friend. The city sadl...»
«A chart of living daubed I, quickly, / the paint from jam jar did I splatter; / I fingered plate of aspic, sickly / with curving prows through ocean water. / In scale of pickled herringed letter — / a proclamation from new lips. / And you / a nocturne could / ...»