Osip Mandelshtam
- Thy image, wavering, agonizing..., by Bernard Meares
- Your vague image, frail and born in ache..., by Evgenia Sarkisyants
«February. Take ink and weep, / write February as you’re sobbing, / while black Spring burns deep / through the slush and throbbing. Take a cab. For a clutch of copecks, / through bell-towers’ and wheel noise, / go where the rain-storm’s din breaks, / greater than crying or ink emp...»
«The noise dies. I walk on stage. / Leaning on the door’s frame, / from the far echo I try to gauge / what they’ll put against my name. Night’s shadow is focused on me, / through a thousand opera-glasses. / Abba, Father, if it may be, / see that this cup passes. I love your stubbo...»
«Hum has died away. I’m going out / On the stage, and leaning on a post, / Sensing in an echo's distant sound / What there is to happen down the road. Through the oodles of focused opera glasses, / I‘m confronted by the gloom of night. / If it is an option, Abba! Father! / I implore ...»
«It's February. Weeping take ink. / Find words in a sobbing rush / For February, while black spring / Burns through the rumbling slush. And take a cab. Ride for a rouble / Through wheel racket and bell's throbbing / To where the downpour makes more din / Than the sound of ink and sobbing...»