Until death itself... Who would have thought?
(A sleigh at the doorstep, wind, snow)
I know, I know. But how could one think
That this is until death? Completely? Forever?
Be silent, be silent, we don't need hope
(Evening, wind, snow, houses...)
But who would have thought that there is no hope?
(A sleigh. Evening. Wind. Darkness.)
До самой смерти… Кто бы мог думать?
(Санки у подъезда. Вечер. Снег.)
Никто не знал. Но как было думать,
Что это — совсем? Навсегда? Навек?
Молчи! Не надо твоей надежды!
(Улица. Вечер. Ветер. Дома.)
Но как было знать, что нет надежды?
(Вечер. Метелица, Ветер. Тьма.)
«Don't fall, my little star, keep shining, / Keep dropping chilly beams of light. / There is no living heart abiding / Up there beyond the grave-yard site. / / And from you beam you bring us summer / And fill the fields with rye and hay / And with a thrilling wistful clamour / Of cra...»
«Upon the cobbles / of my foot-clobbered soul, / the steps of loonies / twine their grinding rhymes. / Where the towns / are hung / and in the nooses of clouds / the crooked necks of towers / are wrung, / I start to cry / because / by the crossroads / the cops are crucified.»
«Please Listen! / If stars are lit, / it is something / that somebody needs? / Someone wants them / To be and to last, / Even calls them pearls, those specs of spit. / And suffocating / In the blizzards of midday dust, / He bursts in on God, / afraid it's too late to s...»
«I am back in my city, dear to me like my tears / Like small veins, swollen glands of my infancy years. You have come here, now go ahead in one gulp / Down the fish-oil of Leningrad’s river lights lamps Can you make out this day of December that’s marred / By the egg-yolk stirred into the...»