Silence. In the junipers atop the valley,
Autumn — a roam mare — rubs her mane for dressing.
Well above the wooded river banks —
That's the dark blue clang her horseshoes make.
Wind, a monk, walks past with wary footsteps
Holding back the foliage on the pathways,
Kissing, when he comes upon the mountain ash,
Crimson wounds that are the marks of Christ unseen.
Р. В. Иванову
Тихо в чаще можжевеля по обрыву.
Осень — рыжая кобыла — чешет гриву.
Над речным покровом берегов
Слышен синий лязг её подков.
Схимник-ветер шагом осторожным
Мнёт листву по выступам дорожным
И целует на рябиновом кусту
Язвы красные незримому Христу.
«(The model of disintegration of the old army) To gallop in grand review / With a cockade on the head, / In melted Petrograd, / In revolutionary Moscow. In delirium and in drunken fervor / To surrender to the spirited game, / To stand up for the Motherland — in March, / For the Bolshe...»
«There was no bourgeoisie, the need was not for it: / For the revolution they needed capitalism, / So they could make it in the name of a proletariat. / They slapped it together out of shopkeepers, / Out of merchants, landowners, cadets, and midwives. / They mixed it with the bl...»
«“Confess to me, what’s wrong. You’re in dejection.” / — I love, my friend! - “Which lady holds you captive?” / — She does. — “Glisera? Chloe? Lila’s so attractive!” / — O, no! — “To whom do you submit your soul’s affection?” / — To her! — “You’...»
«The lies of fame and love’s resolve / Have vanished now without a trace, / Our youthful passions have dissolved / As though a dream or morning haze. / Yet, still, we’re burning with desire, / And with impatience in our souls, / Beneath the yoke of strength and fire, / We hark our c...»