My talent is pitiful, my voice not loud,
but I am living; somewhere in the world
someone looks kindly on my life; far off
a distant fellow-man will read my words
and find my being; and, who knows, my soul
will raise an echo in his soul, and I
who found a friend in my own time,
will find a reader in posterity.
Мой дар убог и голос мой не громок,
Но я живу, и на земли моё
Кому-нибудь любезно бытиё:
Его найдёт далёкий мой потомок
В моих стихах: как знать? душа моя
Окажется с душой его в сношеньи,
И как нашёл я друга в поколеньи,
Читателя найду в потомстве я.
«I’ve raised a statue to myself that’s some! / To shameful century’s its back to run. / To its lost love that’s turned with stony face. / Like cycle wheel is bent its stony chest. / And buttocks is to sea of half-truth faced. / And if I would with nice landscape well dressed, / Wh...»
«In villages God does not live only / in icon corners, as the scoffers claim, / but plainly, everywhere. He sanctifies / each roof and pan, divides each double door. / In villages God acts abundantly- / cooks lentils in iron pots on Saturdays, / dances a lazy jig in flickering flames, / ...»
«A snake, it coils / Bewitching the heart. / Day after day, coos / A dove on the white sill. A bright flash in frost, / Drowsy night-scented stock... / Yet, sure and secret, / It’s far from peace and joy. It knows how to weep sweetly / In the violin’s yearning prayer; / And is f...»
«I. Horses along the ride, / Long waves of combed manes. / O enchanting town of enigmas, / I’m sad. I’m in love with you. Strange to recall soul’s longing, / Suffocating, delirious death. / Now I’m simply a plaything, / Like the green parrot, my friend. If you wish to, look in ...»