She stands there with a sly expression, smiling.
Holding a huge scroll in her marble hands.
She notes life, death, and fame in her compiling,
Records all time, all people in all lands.
And she (who’s not to blame) gets bored and weary
With fates of slaves, chiefs, races, patriarchs.
But recently a curly-bearded, cheery
Wise man smiled up at her — a Karl Marx.
She stepped down swiftly from the pedestal:
"I beg you! Come up! I’m so tired of all
This writing, not knowing what links the chain!
In the museums and the libraries
I’ll find a home. But human destinies
And their untangling aren’t for a girl’s brain."
Она стоит с улыбкой лукавой
И держит свиток мраморный в руках,
Внося в анналы жизнь, и смерть, и славу,
Мелькающие средь людей в веках.
И скучно ей, ничуть не виноватой
В судьбе рабов, вождей, племен и рас.
Но вот мудрец кудряво-бородатый
Недавно улыбнулся ей, Карл Маркс.
Она сошла проворно с пьедестала:
"Прошу! Влезайте! Я ведь так устала
Записывать, не знаю что к чему!
В музеях и библиотеках
Найду приют! А судьбы человека
Разгадывать не девичью уму!"
«The hour of the soul 3 There’s an hour of the Soul, like the hour of the Moon, / Of an owl — the hour, of mist — the hour, of darkness — / The hour... Hour of the Soul — like the hour of the harp-string / Of David through the dreams Of Saul... At that hour, tremble, / Vanity, an...»
«Maternally — in a dream — with my ear. / As for you, I am inclined to rumor, / As is my soul — to your suffering: a fever? yes? / As for you, I am inclined to your face, Measuring the up — per reaches of your forehead. / As for you, I am inclined to your blood, / To your heart, ...»
«Out of the leprosarium of falsity and malice / I have roused you and taken you Into reveille! Out of the dead sleep of headstones — / Into my hands, here into these palms, both of them, Shell-like — now grow, be calm: / Grow like a pearl in these palms! O, neither sheikh nor shah may b...»
«Fierce valley, / Valley of love. / Hands: white with salt. / Mouth: black with blood. A left-breasted Amazon’s / Shaft just missed my temple. / Yes — my head on a stone — / Life, who could love you? To hell with my plans! To hell with my lies! / Here: as a lark, there: as...»