Osip Mandelshtam
Straw (Salome)

I

When, little Straw, you lie in giant bedroom
And, sleepless, wait, that solemn, true and high,
Heavy and calm — what could be more despairing —
Forever on you will descend the sky —

A whistling Straw, a dry Straw, or Straw empty,
You drank death to the brim and made it raw.
A straw broke dear, lifeless and so tender:
No, not Salome, no, it was but the Straw.

In sleepless hour all objects grow in scale
As if in numbers few — it is so quiet —
In mirror pillows flash, a little pale,
And in round haze the bed reflects at night.

No, not the Straw in her triumphant satin,
In giant room over Nieva's black streams,
Twelve months are singing of the hour of Satan,
And pale blue ice through scalding air steams.

The breath of triumphing December rises
As if heavy Nieva were in the room.
No, not the Straw, not that which the man despises:
I've learned you, blessed words, Ligeia, doom.

II

I've learned you, blessed words, that man despises,
Ligeia, Seraphita, Straw, Lenore,
In giant bedroom heavy Nieva rises
And blue blood gushes from the granite floor.

Over Nieva December shines white light.
Twelve months are singing of the hour of Satan.
No, not the Straw in her triumphant satin
Instills a slow and tortuous respite.

There lives in me December's own Ligeia
Whose love sleeps in sarcophagus and burns,
And you, my little Straw, perhaps Salome,
Were killed by pity and will not return.

____
In Russian Solominka, or Little Straw, nickname for Lou-Andreas Solome.

Translated by Ilya Shambat