My unglorious day is waning,
Finally the end has come…
Oh, my ash-tree ice! My verses,
Light-transparent frigid ones!
I do not intend to leave my
Useless goods to anyone.
I shine up the crystal and the
Silver for myself alone.
And my icon lamp is burning,
Getting rosy from inside…
Well, and you who do not need it,
From my feast just hide your eyes…
It’s the arctic here. With reason
I keep warm as daylight wanes
With this secret heat, emitted
From a glassy-surfaced blaze.
На исходе день невзрачный,
Наконец, пришел конец...
Мой холодный, мой прозрачный,
Стих мой, лед-ясенец!
Никому не завещаю
Я ненужное добро.
Для себя лишь засвечаю
Хрустали и серебро, —
И горит моя лампада,
Розовея изнутри...
Ну а ты, кому не надо,
Ты на пир мой не смотри...
Здесь полярный круг. Недаром
Греюсь на исходе дня
Этим сокровенным жаром
Застекленного огня.
«Petrichor. Bell towers resound. / Heart is wounded joyfully — by whom? / Who has thrown the stone on the ground, / Who broke in the chamber of my tomb? Mare's tails; sky deepening and lumining, / Pearls of daylight scattered... Am I worth?.. / As a maiden on her first communion, / The...»
«In Spring, along a waving stalk, a fly / Ascending sees set high / Above her on a flower, / A bee, ensconced as in a bower; / And haughtily remarks: — "A busy state is yours / That all the day from morn to eve, duU work endures! / Called to vexatious toil, I might indeed have faint...»
«The sullen rain / cast a glance / askance. / Beyond the still / clear grille — / the iron reasoning of wires strung overhead — / a featherbed. / And on it / rested lightly / the legs of rising stars. / But as / the streetlamps — tsars / in crowns of gas — / began t...»
«With those broad brims, jackets long and spruce, / With notebooks full of verses — all your own, / So long ago to ashes you reduced, / Like blooms of lilac, off its branches blown. There, where you are, to form is nothing bound, / All things are blurred, disjoined, vague and shapeless. /...»