Clear-etched lines of mountains;
The pale-untrustworthy sea…
My excited vision un-curtained,
Drowns in the shoreless leas.
In my hidden hopes created
The natural world is ideal,
And all is ashes that is real:
The water, the steppe, the cliffs.
Чёткие линии гор;
Бледно-неверное море...
Гаснет восторженный взор,
Тонет в бессильном просторе.
Создал я в тайных мечтах
Мир идеальной природы, —
Что перед ним этот прах:
Степи, и скалы, и воды!
«I'm careless of the ode’s exalted sentence / And of the elegy’s delicious guile. / I say the verse should ill befit the senses, / Escape the common file. If you could know what gibberish empowers / The verse that grows, from all abashment freed, / Like dandelions’ yellow summer fl...»
«How is your life with that other one? / Simpler, is it? A stroke of the oars / and a long coastline — / and the memory of me is soon a drifting island / (not in the ocean — in the sky!) / Souls — you will be sisters — / sisters, not lovers. How is your life with an ordinary / ...»
«How is living with another? / Simpler? The thud of oars! — / Memories of me soon start to / Drift like wave-lines by the shores, I’m the island in the distance, / (Not on water! — in the sky!) / Souls! — You’re destined to be sisters / And not lovers in this life! How is li...»
«“I’m not leaving! — This isn’t the end!” And she clings and clings... / But in her breast — the swell / Of looming waters, / Of notes... Count on it: sealed as / A sacrament: we’re bound to leave each other!»