The green reflection in the glass door.
Automobiles hum below.
I don't think about my homeland.
Why should I? They killed her.
You, of course, will reproach me
For this, for not thinking.
But I only wait for three days to pass:
She will be resurrected in new flesh.
Отблеск зеленый в дверном стекле,
поют внизу автомобили.
Не думаю о моей земле:
что тут думать? Ее убили.
Вы, конечно, за это меня —
за недуманье — упрекнете?
Я лишь жду, чтоб прошло три дня:
она воскреснет — в новой плоти.
«Today I see that your look is particularly sad, / And your hands are particularly fragile, clasped over your knees. / Just listen: far, far away, on Lake Chad / Roams a proud giraffe. He has been blessed with gracefulness and bliss, / His hide is decorated with a magical pattern, ...»
«Do you know the region where / everything in abundance breathes? / Count A. K. Tolstoy And do you know the region of modest hovels, / where hunger forces people toward heavy sins, / where it's always inhuman, faces are ever grim, / where the sound of laughter had faded long ago, / and w...»
«She raised herself on her fingers / and made me a gift of her lips. / I kissed her a little tiredly / in the moist autumn silence. Tears were dropping soundlessly / in the moist autumn silence. / The dreary day expired, we weary / like everything that isn't in a dream.»
«Amid the worlds, in twinkling of the stars / There’s the One, whose name I always utter… / ‘Tis not because I love Her with my heart, / But rather because languish I with others. And if my doubt is hard in all its might, / ‘Tis She alone, whom always I inquire, / ‘Tis not becaus...»