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.
«Unsuited to my purpose in the rhyming / Of martial odes or charming elegies. / In verses everything should be untimely, / No punctualityes. I wish you were aware from what stray matter / Springs poetry to prosper without shame, / Like dandelions which the children scatter, / Or pi...»
«My sister Muse looked at my face, / Her gaze was clear and bright. / She took my golden ring away — / First present of that spring. / Muse! Do you see their happiness? / Girls, widows, wives. / I would rather die on the rack, / But not these bounds of iron. / Guessing, I tear the...»
«I raise my glass / To ravaged home, / My bitter life, / And lonely days with you. / I drink to you, / To lying lips' betrayal, / To deathly frigid eyes; / To that the world is cruel and crude, / To that we weren't saved by God.»
«Don’t weep for me — I’ll live on / as a happy beggar, a convict with goodwill, / as a southerner frozen in the north, / as a consumptive and ill-tempered Petershurger / in the malarial south I’ll live on. Don’t weep for me — I’ll live on / as that lame girl who came out on t...»