Through the consoling April sun
the breeze, so very unconsoling,
a sandy whirlwind on the road —
shutting up the chattering starling.
Up above the northern latitudes,
dark grey clouds are bulking high.
Bowler hats get pulled down tight —
but these two dandies let theirs fly.
And under the noise of the rumbling hail,
the proud and wicked heart revives:
«That's our very own lightning-crack,
the wingbeat as our spring arrives!»
Сквозь уютное солнце апреля —
Неуютный такой холодок.
И — смерчом по дорожке песок,
И — смолкает скворец-пустомеля.
Там над северным краем земли
Черно-серая вздутая туча.
Котелки поплотней нахлобуча,
Попроворней два франта пошли.
И под шум градобойного гула —
В сердце гордом, веселом и злом:
«Это молнии нашей излом,
Это наша весна допорхнула!»
«What does a woman alone know about mortal time? / O. Mandelstam Ever the best dressed of all, of all the rosiest and tallest, / Why do you rise up from the depth of murderous years? / And why does memory wave at me ravishingly / With your transparent profile from a carriage window? / How ...»
«I thought I already knew about insomnia, / All its abysses and trails, / But this is like clattering horses / Under a trumpet’s wild shriek. / I step foot into empty houses, / Into someone else’s domestic life. / All is still except for the white shades / Afloat in foreign mirrors....»
«But I warn you / That I am alive for the last time. / Neither as sparrow, nor maple. / Nor reed, nor star, / Nor spring water, / Nor bells in a tower — / I will not embarrass people / By visiting in strange dreams / With unquenchable moans.»
«“A sensuous, beckoning shadow / lingered Near Alexandria’s lush halls.” — Pushkin / / She’s already kissed her cold Antony, on his dead lips. / She’s already kneeled down in front of Augustus and cried. / Now she is betrayed by the servants: victorious trumpets / Sound unde...»