When horses die, they sigh
When grasses die, they shrivel
When suns die, they flare and expire
When people die, they sing songs
Когда умирают кони — дышат,
Когда умирают травы — сохнут,
Когда умирают солнца — они гаснут,
Когда умирают люди — поют песни.
«Over dull grey wastes of water / winds are massing darkening storm-clouds. / There ‘twixt clouds and surging sea-waves / proudly soars the Stormy Petrel, / darting sheer like jet-black lightening. / Now he skims the foam with wing-tip, / now — and arrow shooting cloudward, — / he...»
«There, where the sunrise is sprinkling / Water of red where the cabbage bed sits. / The small maple nuzzling his mother / Impatiently sucks her green tits.»
«Snow gone, mounds of clay are drying. / Mold of mushrooms on the foothills. / On the plains the wind is dancing — / Like a gentle small red donkey. Smells of pine and pussy willow... / Heaven sometimes sighs — and dozes. / And a sparrow reads his psalter / At the pulpit of the fore...»
«It was morning, and in the rye-bin, / Where the rows of gold mats were spread, / A dog littered seven puppies, / Seven puppies, brownish-red. She fondled them until evening / And combed them smooth with her tongue, / While the light snow melted beneath her / Where her warm belly hung. ...»