My lips approaching
Your lips,
Mysteries happening again,
And the world like a temple.
We, like priests,
Create the rite.
Sternly in the great abode,
Words resound.
Angels, falling prostrate,
Sing the troparion.
The stars — sanctuary lamps alight,
And the night — an altar.
What draws us to the inevitable,
As steel is drawn to a magnet?
We breathe lust and tenderness,
But the sight is shut.
We are captives in the swirl
Of last caresses.
There it is, by the century appointed,
Our way to Damascus!
Губы мои приближаются
К твоим губам,
Таинства снова свершаются,
И мир как храм.
Мы, как священнослужители,
Творим обряд.
Строго в великой обители
Слова звучат.
Ангелы, ниц преклоненные,
Поют тропарь.
Звезды — лампады зажженные,
И ночь — алтарь.
Что нас влечет с неизбежностью,
Как сталь магнит?
Дышим мы страстью и нежностью,
Но взор закрыт.
Водоворотом мы схвачены
Последних ласк.
Вот он, от века назначенный,
Наш путь в Дамаск!
«He did not return, even after his death, to / That ancient city he was rooted in. / Going away, he did not pause for breath / Nor look back. My song is for him. / Torches, night, a last embrace, / Fate, a wild howl, at his threshold. / Out of hell he sent her his curse / And in heaven ...»
«"I am air and fire..." / – Shakespeare She has kissed lips already grown inhuman, / On her knees she has wept already before Augustus... / And her servants have betrayed her. Under the Roman / Eagle clamour the raucous trumpets, and the dusk has Spread. And enter the last hostage to her ...»
«In the young century’s cool nursery, / In its checkered silence, I was born. / Sweet to me was not the voice of man, / But the wind’s voice was understood by me. / The burdocks and the nettles fed my soul, / But I loved the silver willow best of all. / And, grateful for my love, it l...»
«He who compared himself to the eye of a horse, / Peers, looks, sees, recognizes, / And instantly puddles shine, ice / Pines away, like a melting of diamonds. Backyards drowse in lilac haze. Branch — / Line platforms, logs, clouds, leaves... / The engine’s whistle, watermelon’s crunc...»