I seek for rhythmic whisperings
Where noises bandy —
For life I listen wistfully
In footless banter.
I cast wide nets and tentative
In lakes of sorrow.
I go toward final tenderness
By pathways sordid.
I look for dewdrops glistering
In falsehood's gardens.
I save truth's globules glistening,
From dust-heaps garnered.
I fain would fathom fortitude
Through years of wormwood —
And pierce the mortal fortalice,
Yet live, a worldling.
My cup, through ways impassable,
To bear, untainted;
By tenebrous bleak passages
To joy attaining.
Ищу напевных ше-
потов
В несвязном шу-
ме,
Ловлю живые шо-
рохи
В ненужной шу-
тке.
Закидываю не-
воды
В озера гру-
сти,
Иду к последней не-
жности
Сквозь пыль и гру-
бость.
Ищу росинок ис-
кристых
В садах непра-
вды,
Храню их в чаше ис-
тины,
Беру из пра-
ха.
Хочу коснуться сме-
лаго
Чрез горечь жи-
зни.
Хочу прорезать сме-
ртное
И знать, что жив -
я.
Меж цепкого и ле-
пкого
Скользнуть бы с ча-
шей.
По самой темной ле-
стнице
Дойти до сча-
стья.
«I love You, My Guardian Angel, in gloom. / In gloom, that has followed me out of the womb. / Because you were once my fair gorgeous bride. / Because you have seen all the secrets I hide. / Because we are bound by secrets and night. / Because you’re my sister, my daughter, my bride. / B...»
«Night. The city grew calm. / Behind the large window / The mood is solemn and somber, / As if a man is dying. / But there someone stands simply sad, / Troubled by his misfortune, / With an opened collar, / And looks at the stars. / “Stars, stars, / Tell me the cause of grief!” ...»
«A mournful waxwork exhibition / Is opened for the third year straight. / A crowd of drunks awaits admission... / While in the grave, the queen awaits. She lies there, in her tomb of glass, / Neither alive nor fully dead, / And shameless people, as they pass, / All whisper of the life sh...»
«When you are standing on my path, / So full of life, so full of beauty, / And yet so wearied, / You only talk about sad things, / You only think about death, / You do not love a soul, / And you despise your beauty — / What then? Could I offend you? / O, no! I’m not an oppressor, ...»