Your vague image, frail and born in ache,
In the fog I could not sense by touch.
“God!” my tongue let out, though by mistake,
For I did not mean to say that much.
So God’s name, much like a wide-winged bird,
From my chest took on its feathered flight.
Up ahead of it, dense fog is stirred,
And its empty cage is gone from sight.
Образ твой, мучительный и зыбкий,
Я не мог в тумане осязать.
«Господи!», сказал я по ошибке,
Сам того не думая сказать.
Божье имя, как большая птица,
Вылетело из моей груди...
Впереди густой туман клубится,
И пустая клетка позади...
«The heavens are low and drear, / But my spirit is high, it’s known. / You and I are so strangely near, / And each of us is alone. Pitiless is the path I have trod / And it leads me to death and the grave. / But I love myself as I do God, / And it’s love that my soul shall save. And...»
«I am exhausted by a weariness, / My soul wounded is, in blood... / Is there compassion really not on us, / Is there indeed on us no love? We do fulfill a will that is too strict, / As shadows, softly, trace without, ...»
«Someone says: "Form? Nonsense! / When shit is poured into crystal, / Does the glass become less pure?" Another objects: "Fool! / If the best wine is poured into a chamber pot / It won’t make people more likely to drink it." The dispute can’t be resolved... Such a pity! / Indeed, it i...»
«We are cultured: we clean our teeth, / Mouth, and both boots. / In letters, we are especially polite: / “Your most obedient servant.” So then, why do we end / Any kind of debate — / like weak fools — / Imitating Papuans / And beating each other on the snouts? / True, it is u...»