Swimming in the blue dust,
The moon butts a cloud with its horn.
This night, no one will guess
Why the herons screamed.
This night, she ran through the reeds
To the green backwater.
Her white hand swept her tousled hair
Over her tunic.
She ran up, glanced at the quick spring
And sat down on the stump in pain.
In her eyes, the daisies wilted
The way a swamp light goes out.
At dawn, through the spiraling fog,
She swam away and vanished in the distance...
And the moon, swimming in the blue dust,
Nodded to her from behind the hill.
Месяц рогом облако бодает,
В голубой купается пыли.
В эту ночь никто не отгадает,
Отчего кричали журавли.
В эту ночь к зелёному затону
Прибегла она из тростника.
Золотые космы по хитону
Разметала белая рука.
Прибегла, в ручей взглянула прыткий,
Опустилась с болью на пенёк.
И в глазах завяли маргаритки,
Как болотный гаснет огонёк.
На рассвете с вьющимся туманом
Уплыла и скрылася вдали…
И кивал ей месяц за курганом,
В голубой купаяся пыли.
«Later on, there was the loft with hay / And it smelled like a wine cork / While August ran out of days / And weeds took over like the tropics. In the grass, on the sorrel, beads / Of sullen diamonds hung, / Chilling the taste-buds / Reminding of Riesling. September made headlines / D...»
«To Love, — to leave, — with the thunder not ceasing, / Trampled by boredom not even knowing the boot’s tread, / Tripping over a hedgehog, and then, for good, repaying / The cowberry’s evil with a gossamer’s web. To drink from the bough while the face / Recoils from Prussian blue l...»
«Bursting himself through bushes, as if from the snare / Of Margarete’s tight hot lips of purple, / While the whites of her eyes stared, / Curled, flicked, grew firm, shone like a nightingale. It was like the smell from grass. Like mercury / Hanging in the mad rain between bird-cherry tree...»
«A swarm of dust starting from the horizon / And pouring out across Sunday, everywhere, / Like a shower breaking through a bedroom window, / Did not yet reach the house. It propelled everything towards the dinner hour / While the third rain was occurring, / Like a whirlpool flinging a bicy...»