Bo-beh-óh-bee is the lipsong
Veh-eh-óh-mee is the eyesong
Pee-eh-éh-oh is the eyebrowsong
Lee-eh-éh-ay is the looksong
Gzee-gzee-gzéh-oh is the chainsong
On the canvas of such correspondences
somewhere beyond all dimensions
the face has a life of its own.
Бобэоби пелись губы,
Вээоми пелись взоры,
Пиээо пелись брови,
Лиэээй — пелся облик,
Гзи-гзи-гзэо пелась цепь.
Так на холсте каких-то соответствий
Вне протяжения жило Лицо.
«Say a few more words to me, / don’t sleep before the dawn. / I need you to feel close to me. / My journey’s almost done. May the last poem I have made / take on new life through your sweet lisp, / your quiet wrestle with sounds / you cannot get your tongue round.»
«I love a despairing peace: / chrysanthemum blossoms in fall, / lights adrift in a river of mist, / a sunset that has turned pale, / nameless graves, all the clichés / of a Symbolist "wordless romance" — / what Annensky loved with such greed / and Gumilyov couldn’t stand.»
«The souls of those I love are on high stars. / How good that there is no-one left to lose / And one can weep. Tsarskoye Selo’s / Air was made to repeat songs. By the river bank the silver willow / Touches the bright September waters. / Rising from the past, my shadow / Comes silently ...»
«My friends, can you descry that mound of earth / Above clear waters in the shade of trees? / You can just hear the babbling spring against the bank; / You can just feel a breeze that's wafting in the leaves; / A wreath and lyre hang upon the boughs... / Alas, my friends! This m...»