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.)
«They’ve cut a hole in the deep / dense blue of the ice: / a breathing space for big fish and little, / water for bringers of buckets, / a way out for a weary traveler / if she and life turn out after all / to be traveling different roads / and she has nowhere to go.»
«I pardon all your sins — / but two I can’t abide: / You read poems in silence / and kiss aloud. So sin, blossom, be merry — / but take my advice: / a kiss, my darling, is not for the ear, / and music is not for the eyes.»
«Black as the pupil of an eye, sucking at light / like the pupil of an eye, I love you, far-sighted night. Give me the voice to sing of you, godmother of every hymn, / you in whose hand lie the bridles of the four winds. Calling on you, extolling you, I am no more than / a shell where the sea...»
«Someone says: "Form? Nonsense! / When shit is poured into crystal, / Does the glass become less pure?" Another objects: "Fool! / If the best wine is poured into a chamber pot / It won’t make people more likely to drink it." The dispute can’t be resolved... Such a pity! / Indeed, it i...»