People in love, casting
long looks, long sighs.
Beasts in love, raising
dregs in their eyes,
choked on their bits of foam.
Suns in love, covering
night with a weft of earth,
dancing to meet, to mate.
Gods in love, forming
the trembling universe
into verse,
like Pushkin his passion
for Volkonskaia’s maid.
Люди, когда они любят,
Делающие длинные взгляды
И испускающие длинные вздохи.
Звери, когда они любят,
Наливающие в глаза муть
И делающие удила из пены.
Солнца, когда они любят,
Закрывающие ночи тканью из земель
И шествующие с пляской к своему другу.
Боги, когда они любят,
Замыкающие в меру трепет вселенной,
Как Пушкин — жар любви горничной Волконского.
«Thank you for everything. For the war, / For the revolution and exile. / For the indifferent bright country / Where we now ‘drag out our existence’. / There is no sweeter destiny than to lose everything. / There is no happier fate than to become a vagabond. / And you’ve never been ...»
«Is the lithe gypsy really also fated to experience / All Dante’s torments? / O. M. This is how I see your face and glance. / B. P. O, Muse of Weeping… / M. Ts. Komarovo Sketches ...And here I renounced everything, / All earthly blessings. / The forest tree stump became / The sp...»
«Under an electric lamp / With a hysterical smile / and head in the pillow. A bird brought down by a gunshot, / No, this is only a dream, / A bad dream… Casino and Nice / And starry firmament. / And yet she is proud / of her riches and herself / And her bitter destiny, / She is ...»
«I went to bliss. The footpath gleamed / The ruby tint of evening dew, / And ebbing in my spirit streamed / The distant song of dawn anew. The song of dawn, as sunset strove / To fade away. The heavens glowed, / And through the welkin’s seas above / The flames of evening purple flowed....»