And truly, one cannot predict
Who in the world will be one’s reader:
A ball can’t know what it will hit
Once it’s shot into the distance.
Well, then, my life-creating verse,
Whom I breathe and in whom I live,
Fly off into darkness, into the void,
Or simply, into the secret drawer!
Our path was blocked at midpoint by
A cruel century. But we’re not complaining, –
Let it be! And yet, and in the main, it’s
A splendid thing, this century!
Perhaps it has no use for verse,
Or for names and patronymics,
Or for separate lonelinesses, –
Still, it kneads the mash of centuries!
И вправду, угадать хитро,
Кто твой читатель в мире целом:
Ведь пущенное в даль ядро
Не знает своего прицела.
Ну что же, — в темень, в пустоту.
— А проще: в стол, в заветный ящик —
Лети, мой стих животворящий,
Кем я дышу и в ком расту!
На полпути нам путь пресек
Жестокий век. Но мы не ропщем, —
Пусть так! А все-таки, а в общем
Прекрасен этот страшный век!
И пусть ему не до стихов,
И пусть не до имен и отчеств,
Не до отдельных одиночеств, —
Он месит месиво веков!
«I love a despairing peace: / chrysanthemum blossoms in fall, / lights adrift in a river of mist, / a sunset that has turned pale, / nameless graves, all the clichés / of a Symbolist "wordless romance" — / what Annensky loved with such greed / and Gumilyov couldn’t stand.»
«The souls of those I love are on high stars. / How good that there is no-one left to lose / And one can weep. Tsarskoye Selo’s / Air was made to repeat songs. By the river bank the silver willow / Touches the bright September waters. / Rising from the past, my shadow / Comes silently ...»
«My friends, can you descry that mound of earth / Above clear waters in the shade of trees? / You can just hear the babbling spring against the bank; / You can just feel a breeze that's wafting in the leaves; / A wreath and lyre hang upon the boughs... / Alas, my friends! This m...»
«Driven by misfortune's whirlwind, / Having neither oar nor rudder, / By a storm my bark was driven / Out upon the boundless sea. / 'midst black clouds a small star sparkled; / "Don't conceal yourself!" I cried; / But it disappeared, unheeding; / And my anchor was lost, too. All was cl...»