I see them: Crab, Ram, Bull,
and all the world is only shell
whose pearl and opalescence
is my impotence.
A knock, a chirr, container of whistle and rustle,
and I realize then that waves and thought are kin.
Here, there, in milky ways, women rise
through darkness drunk on drowsy prose.
On such a night, no grave is grim...
and evening women, evening wine
become a single diadem
whose baby boy I am.
Мне видны — Рак, Овен,
И мир лишь раковина,
В которой жемчужиной
То, чем недужен я.
В шорохов свисте шествует стук вроде «Ч».
И тогда мне казались волны и думы — родичи.
Млечными путями здесь и там возникают женщины.
Милой обыденщиной
Напоена мгла.
В эту ночь любить и могила могла…
И вечернее вино
И вечерние женщины
Сплетаются в единый венок,
Которого брат меньший я.
«"I had been leaving coast of misty Albion." / How divine they are — this sadness and this height! / I see the dingy waves fall down and rise on, / The dingy firmament... I know that all by hart. I see the youth that leaned upon the high mast's rope, / As beautiful as if he were by fairie...»
«I’ll die at dawn or daybreak! But at which of these lines, / Which I’ll die with — no decision by orders’ receiving! / Oh, if my torch would be blessed to extinguish two times — / So as to die with the light of the morning and evening! The heaven’s daughter has passed with her gai...»
«I know the only truth! The others — cast aside! / There’s no need for the men of Earth to fight with others! / Look, there’s the evening soon and soon it’ll be the night. / What you about, colonels, poets, lovers? Now wind is near the soil and dew lay on the grass, / The starry bli...»
«A fire, a sword, doing you awful harm? / No! These words are too loud and shabby! / A pain, well-known like to eyes — a palm, / Like to lips — a name of a dear baby.»