Flying in at my window,
a moon like a snow jay
scrapes claws on walls,
flutters over my pillow
Scared of confinement
in pages or dwelling,
my homeless darling —
in midnight finery.
Луна, точно снежная сойка,
Влетает в окошко ко мне
И крыльями машет над койкой,
Когтями скребет по стене.
И бьется на белых страницах,
Пугаясь людского жилья,
Моя полуночная птица,
Бездомная прелесть моя.
«My honied languor comes of silence and of dreams / And boredom long-drawn-out and songs that gauchely yearn; / The cocks embroidered on white towels give me joy, / I like the soot that clings to icons old and stern. To the hot buzz of flies day after day goes by, / And a meek piety on ea...»
«With a passion I detest the saintly — / Their scrupulous and tortured concerns / And shallow thoughts are for themselves; / Themselves alone exclusively they save. They fear exclusively for their souls, / In terror of their dreams' gaping abyss / And of that ancient poisoner the Worm / ...»
«Oh, do not trust the nighttime hour! / It is filled with evil beauty. / In the nighttime people are close to death, / And flowers alone are strangely alive. Dark and warm are the quiet walls, / And the hearth is long without fire… / And from the flowers I await betrayals, / For the fl...»
«For three days now I’ve spoken with no one... / My thoughts are greedy and malicious. / My back hurts. Everywhere I look, / I see only sky-blue patches. The church bell was droning. It stopped. / I am alone with myself. / Silk of scarlet creaks and bends / Beneath the clumsy needle. ...»