Sergey Esenin
- I am the last poet of the village..., by Lyuba Coffey
Sergei Jessenin (deutsch)
- Als Letzter bin ich noch ans Dorf gefesselt..., Eric Boerner
Serguéi Yesenin (español)
- Soy el último poeta del campo..., desconocido autor
«Love neighbors as thyself, they say… / But me myself despise. / While yearning for ethereal, / I see my truths and lies. And if I ever loved someone, / I only had in mind / To find the innocence of heart, / A ray of truth divine. But after sobering from dreams, / In foreign souls...»
«Exists in the autumnal growing / A brief, but an enchanting phase: / The day – as if in crystal glowing, / The dusk – in the resplendent glaze. Where ears fell to zesty sickle’s rending, / It’s bare around; through a widespread range / Glows only, thinning and unbending, / A web...»
«There is a fleeting, wondrous moment / during autumn’s early days: / time stands motionless, time’s a crystal, / evenings bathe in brilliant rays. Where sickles swung and crops were toppled, / there’s just an empty wasteland now. / A strand of glittering web is all you notice / ac...»
«You’re here again – and of a sudden / A warmth long gone floods my dead heart, / And all I thought forgot, unbidden / Returns, of me becomes a part. Just as spring’s breath may soft come stealing / Upon the air on late fall’s day / And rouse in us a vanished feeling / Of life, o...»