I shall not lie to find a lurid rhyme,
Honoured master, no harsh words from you:
Since the cot your choice has not been mine,
I can only do what I can do.
How heartily I thank relentless Fate
For the prickly Muse that I’ve been given:
The path we walk is ours, though it be strait,
She and I aren’t fellow-travelling women.
Ради рифмы резвой не солгу,
Уж не обессудь, маститый мастер, —
Мы от колыбели разной масти:
Я умею только то, что я могу.
Строгой благодарна я судьбе,
Что дала мне Музу-недотрогу:
Узкой, но своей идем дорогой.
Обе не попутчицы тебе.
«Thank you for everything. For the war, / For the revolution and exile. / For the indifferent bright country / Where we now ‘drag out our existence’. / There is no sweeter destiny than to lose everything. / There is no happier fate than to become a vagabond. / And you’ve never been ...»
«Is the lithe gypsy really also fated to experience / All Dante’s torments? / O. M. This is how I see your face and glance. / B. P. O, Muse of Weeping… / M. Ts. Komarovo Sketches ...And here I renounced everything, / All earthly blessings. / The forest tree stump became / The sp...»
«Under an electric lamp / With a hysterical smile / and head in the pillow. A bird brought down by a gunshot, / No, this is only a dream, / A bad dream… Casino and Nice / And starry firmament. / And yet she is proud / of her riches and herself / And her bitter destiny, / She is ...»
«I went to bliss. The footpath gleamed / The ruby tint of evening dew, / And ebbing in my spirit streamed / The distant song of dawn anew. The song of dawn, as sunset strove / To fade away. The heavens glowed, / And through the welkin’s seas above / The flames of evening purple flowed....»