Like an ungraceful little girl you appeared before me.
Sappho
«Like an ungraceful little girl you appeared before me» —
Ah, one line of Sappho pierced me like an arrow!
At night I mused over your curly little head,
Passion trading places with a mother’s tenderness in my frantic heart, —
«Like an ungraceful little girl you appeared before me» —
It came to me, how you avoided a kiss by a trick,
I recalled those eyes with an impossible pupil…
Into my house you stepped, happy with me, as with a new toy:
As with a belt, a fistful of beads, or colorful sandals —
«Like an ungraceful little girl you appeared before me» —
But you under the blow of love — what soft gold!
I bent towards your face, pale in passionate shadows,
Where it was as if death had rubbed a snowy puff….
I thank you even for that, sweet one, that in those days
«Like an ungraceful little girl you appeared before me.»
Девочкой маленькой ты мне предстала неловкою.
Сафо
«Девочкой маленькой ты мне предстала неловкою» —
Ах, одностишья стрелой Сафо пронзила меня!
Ночью задумалась я над курчавой головкою,
Нежностью матери страсть в бешеном сердце сменя, —
«Девочкой маленькой ты мне предстала неловкою».
Вспомнилось, как поцелуй отстранила уловкою,
Вспомнились эти глаза с невероятным зрачком...
В дом мой вступила ты, счастлива мной, как обновкою:
Поясом, пригоршней бус или цветным башмачком, —
«Девочкой маленькой ты мне предстала неловкою».
Но под ударом любви ты — что золото ковкое!
Я наклонилась к лицу, бледному в страстной тени,
Где словно смерть провела снеговою пуховкою...
Благодарю и за то, сладостная, что в те дни
«Девочкой маленькой ты мне предстала неловкою».
«Everything’s the same: the snow / Falls, across the window sweeping, / And I’m no different than before, / Though a man had come to see me. I asked him then: “What are you after?” / “To be in hell with you,” he said. / And I responded to him with laughter, / “You’re doom...»
«I went in to see the poet. / Noon exactly. On a Sunday. / The spacious room is quiet. / But outside, there’s bitter frost And the raspberry-colored sun / Over shaggy, blue smoke… / The gaze of my silent host / Is clear and focused on me! The look in his eyes is such / That everyo...»
«We thought: we’re poor and don’t have anything, / But as we started to lose one thing after another, / So much that each day became / A remembrance day, — / We began to write songs / About God’s immense generosity / And the wealth we once had.»
«I’ll leave your white house and your quiet garden. / May life become all bare and filled with light. / I’ll glorify you with a verse so ardent / More than a woman could’ve glorified. / As you recall your dear beloved’s eyes / In heaven you yourself have fashioned, / I’m trading...»