Poor poet, was that really you,
addressing the moon in rhyme?
My eyes were dulled so long ago
by love, by cards and wine.
The moon climbs through the window frame.
White light, so white it blinds you...
I bet on the Queen of Spades,
but I played the Ace of Diamonds.
Сочинитель бедный, это ты ли
Сочиняешь песни о луне?
Уж давно глаза мои остыли
На любви, на картах и вине.
Ах, луна влезает через раму,
Свет такой, хоть выколи глаза...
Ставил я на пиковую даму,
А сыграл бубнового туза.
«Perhaps the world was once a fine endeavor; / Perhaps those living now are cursed by Fate. / I still have one belief, one truth, however: / That every age must honor its own trait. I shall not trade my dolefulness, my trial / For all the joy and bliss of ancient days. / We equally serve G...»
«The mounts of Dagestan enclosed the sun; / A star came up; the breeze was lightly reeling; / And looking to the East, all prayed as one: / Reciting the Quran, Tatars were kneeling, Christ’s servants crossed themselves for holy sake, / Kalmyks sought Lama’s word, their silence ample...»
«What grasshopper-clocks are singing — / Fever is murmuring mad, / And the withered stove is rustling / Like a silk that’s burning red. What the teeth of mice are nibbling / The slim-bottomed life to naught — / Is the swallow or her sibling / That cut loose my wretched boat....»
«Sisters heaviness and tenderness — your signs are the same. / Bees and wasps are sucking the heavy rose. / Man is dying. The heated sand is chilling, / And yesterday's sun is carried away on a black stretcher. Ah, heavy honeycombs and tender nets, / It is easier to lift a stone than to re...»