At the moment the autumn disappeared,
The brusque winter came tearing all along.
Winged like, it has appeared,
No one knows how, why, or for how long.
Deep frosts turned the dams into sheer ice,
(A heavenly sight for every ice sprinter)
Some boys exclaimed, «Hey, it’s nice!»
Others added, «Thank you winter».
With new designs on the glazed windows
Mysterious beauty the world acquired
Even though everyone paused and admired
Who did it, when, and how? No one knows.
The falling snowflakes swirled and dashed,
Then settled down like a huge white throw.
Just then in the clouds the sunlight flashed
And a sparkle appeared on the frosted snow.
Вот уж осень улетела,
И примчалася зима.
Как на крыльях, прилетела
Невидимо вдруг она.
Вот морозы затрещали
И сковали все пруды.
И мальчишки закричали
Ей «спасибо» за труды.
Вот появилися узоры
На стеклах дивной красоты.
Все устремили свои взоры,
Глядя на это. С высоты
Снег падает, мелькает, вьется,
Ложится велой пеленой.
Вот солнце в облаках мигает,
И иней на снегу сверкает.
«Blurred by a lilac heat, the meadows: / in the wood, cathedral shadows swirled. / What on earth was left for them to kiss? So / like wax, soft in the fingers, theirs, the world. There’s a dream — you do not sleep, you only / dream you long for sleep: someone’s dozing, / two black su...»
«In Spasskoe, unforgettable September sheds its leaves. / Isn’t it time to close up the summer-house? / Echo traps the thudding of axe-blows in the trees, / and, past the fence, barters a herd-boy’s shout. Last night the marsh by the park shivered, too. / The moment the sun rises it vani...»
«I think I can call on words / that will last: you are there. / But if I can’t, no matter — / I’ll persist, I won’t care. I hear the muttering of wet roofs, / pale eclogues from stones and kerb. / From the opening lines, that city, / is alive in each sound, each word. You can’...»
«The noise dies. I walk on stage. / Leaning on the door’s frame, / from the far echo I try to gauge / what they’ll put against my name. Night’s shadow is focused on me, / through a thousand opera-glasses. / Abba, Father, if it may be, / see that this cup passes. I love your stubbo...»