In northern capital a dusty poplar’s planted,
Translucent clock-face is ensnared by dappled green,
And in its shade gleams house or battleship enchanted
From far away, the kin of sky and water’s sheen.
A breezy barque, its mast of touch-me-not is slender,
It stands in line along with Peter’s royal heirs,
It shows that demi-god does not make beauty tender,
For its design is caught in simple craftsman’s stares.
On earth we’re governed by four elemental forces,
But fifth is free creation of the human heart.
Does it not mock hegemony of space’s courses,
This ark so chastely crafted by its maker’s art?
Enraged, Medusas clutch with spiteful glare’s contentions,
The rusty anchor rots like an abandoned plough —
Behold, she casts aside the bonds of three dimensions
And all the oceans of the world are opened now!
В столице северной томится пыльный тополь,
Запутался в листве прозрачный циферблат,
И в тёмной зелени фрегат или акрополь
Сияет и́здали — воде и небу брат.
Ладья воздушная и мачта-недотрога,
Служа линейкою преемникам Петра,
Он учит: красота — не прихоть полубога,
А хищный глазомер простого столяра.
Нам четырёх стихий приязненно господство,
Но создал пятую свободный человек:
Не отрицает ли пространства превосходство
Сей целомудренно построенный ковчег?
Сердито лепятся капризные Медузы,
Как плуги брошены, ржавеют якоря —
И вот разорваны трёх измерений узы
И открываются всемирные моря.
«Like a white stone in a deep well / one memory lies inside me. / I cannot and will not fight against it: / it is joy and it is pain. It seems to me that anyone who looks / into my eyes will notice it immediately, / becoming sadder and more pensive / than someone listening to a melanchol...»
«The great man stared through the window / but her entire world ended with the border / of his broad Greek tunic, whose abundant folds / resembled the sea on hold. / And he still stared out through the window, and his gaze / was so far away from here, that his lips were immobile / like a ...»
«The crimson summer now grows pale; / Clear, bright days now soar away; / Hazy mist spreads through the vale, / As the sleeping night turns gray; / The barren cornfields lose their gold; / The lively stream has now turned cold; / The curly woods are gray and stark, / And the heavens hav...»
«I’m not that lover, filled with passion, — / That youth, who left the world amazed: / Alas, my spring and summer passed now, / And didn’t leave a single trace. / Cupid, the god of youth and love and virtue! / I used to be your steadfast servant; / Oh, if I could be reborn, — I...»