On the pavement
of my trampled soul
the steps of madmen
weave the prints of rude crude words.
Where cities
hang
and in the noose of cloud
the towers’
crooked spires
congeal —
I go
alone to weep
that crossroads
crucify
policemen.
По мостовой
моей души изъезженной
шаги помешанных
вьют жестких фраз пяты.
Где города
повешены
и в петле о́блака
застыли
башен
кривые выи —
иду
один рыдать,
что перекрестком
ра́спяты
городовые.
«Not weeks, not months — years / We spent parting. Now at last / The chill of real freedom, / And the gray garland above the temples. No more treasons, no more betrayals, / And you won’t be listening till dawn / As the stream of evidence / Of my perfect innocence flows on.»
«Clouds melt in the sky. / Beaming in the heat, / the river runs, sparkling / like a steel mirror. It's hotter by the hour. / Shadows retreat to silent oak thickets. / From whitening fields / wafts honey-scent. What a wondrous day! Centuries will pass / and in the same eternal order ...»
«Snow is still white in the fields / but spring is in the water's voice. / Running, the waters wake the sleepy banks. / They run, they glisten, they rejoice. "Spring is coming, spring is coming!" / in every direction they shout. / "We're the young spring's runners, / with the news she ha...»
«1 Be manly, my friends, in the fight do not tire. / The struggleТs unequal, the conflict is dire! / Silent above you — the stars in the sky. / Beneath you are graves. Just as silent they lie. Olympus leaves gods not a thing to desire. / Eternally carefree, from work they donТt tire. ...»