All days are fractured as though by crime,
The passage of hoary time grows rusty,
My body's fettered with rigidity,
My heart oppressed and my blood cold as ice.
But there comes lightning: everything can change
In a prophetic dream or wide awake.
The sword of the Archangel touches me
With burning flame and I'm alive again!
Все дни изломаны, как преступлением,
Седого Времени заржавел ход.
И тело сковано оцепенением,
И сердце сдавлено, и кровь — как лед.
Но знаю молнии: всё изменяется...
Во сне пророческом иль наяву?
Копье Архангела меня касается
Ожогом пламенным — и я живу.
Пусть на мгновение, — на полмгновения,
Одним касанием растоплен лед...
Я верю в счастие освобождения,
В Любовь, прощение, в огонь — в полет!
«It’s evening. Dew / Sparkles the nettles. / I stand in the roadway / Resting among willows. Moon’s light is strong / Striking our roofs. / I listen to the song, / Nightingales far off. It’s warm and nice / Like winter by a stove. / Like tall candles / Birches stand above. ...»
«For A. M Remizov Riveted in place on her shattered paw / She had curled near to her den. / A thin trickle of blood in the snow / Framed her face’s pain. The shot and bristly smoke remained / In her eyes from its burst from the fen. / From the scrubby bushes like wind / Pellets had sc...»
«Past mountains, past the yellow valleys, / A path is stretching from the village. / I gaze on woods and flames of evening / Where nettles twine the wattle fencing. Heavenly blue spreads in the morning / Where like sand, churches’ domes are gleaming. / Breezes ripple the roadside grass /...»
«The red evening is settling along the road / And rowan trees are sinking in mists and shade. / An ancient isba’s doorway opens wide / Like jaws that chew the pungent quiet inside. The loyal autumn chill lovingly stole / From farmyard through the haze to the fields of oats. / And through...»