Children of the city, withered faded flowers,
I love you for the completion that a dream empowers.
If only this forehead would smooth out from strain,
If only these eyes were not so sad and drained,
If only these bodies were not starved and thin,
How much joyful enmity would have surged within!
If these feet were only not all rickets-bent,
If beneath them only grass and greenery’s scent!
Children of the city, withered faded blooms,
Still a seed of beauty hides within your gloom.
Mid the clang of iron, the deafening of stone,
You are all the brighter, you are hope alone!
Городские дети, чахлые цветы,
Я люблю вас сладким домыслом мечты.
Если б этот лобик распрямил виски!
Если б в этих глазках не было тоски!
Если б эти тельца не были худы,
Сколько б в них кипело радостной вражды!
Если б эти ноги не были кривы!
Если б этим детям под ноги травы!
Городские дети, чахлые цветы!
Все же в вас таится семя красоты.
В грохоте железа, в глухоте камней
Вы одна надежда, вы всего ясней!
«I shut Homer and sat by the bay window glass. / On my lips the last word of the Iliad fluttered. / The night watchman’s long shadow unhurriedly passed, / And above something — lamplight or moonlight — bright sputtered. So, so often I’d throw down challenging looks / And I met in rep...»
«No, I can’t ever forget / your child’s mouth, your girl’s glance, / bold — I dream of you, / I speak, I think of you — always — like rhythm. I feel vast oceans / heaving as the moon yaws, / and whole galaxies, burning, / swinging as they have always swung, will always swing....»
«Being drawn into earthly passions, / I vision as from gloom to light / Once, dressed in black, Dark Angel rushes / To cry: "Salvation is a lie!" Yet, unassuming and lighthearted, / Delightful as a noble deed, / Comes angel from the white department / To add that hope is true indeed.»
«To Vl. Motyl As a child, I was convinced / that from all conditions / Potion of the Danish Prince / is the most efficient. / And that faith is burning since / brighter every year... / Potion of the Danish Prince / Savor, cavalier! Potion of this Prince or King / is as sweet as cand...»