In her despiteous and shameless wickedness
She is, as ashes, grey or grey as dust.
And I am perishing from just her nearness,
From bonds that solidly connected us.
She is a coarse one, she is a prickly one,
She is a cold one — she is a snake.
With her repulsive scales she had a cruel fun:
She makes me constantly be sternly baked.
If only I can feel a sharpness of the sting!
She is such clumsy, dull, such still as beef,
She is such massive thing, she is such languid thing;
I haven't access to her — she's deadly deaf.
And she inflexibly with her repulsive rings
Always caresses me and strangles at all.
And this unreal thing, this black and awful thing,
This black and monstrous thing — is just my soul!
В своей бессовестной и жалкой низости,
Она, как пыль, сера, как прах земной.
И умираю я от этой близости,
От неразрывности ее со мной.
Она шершавая, она колючая,
Она холодная, она змея.
Меня изранила противно-жгучая
Ее коленчатая чешуя.
О, если б острое почуял жало я!
Неповоротлива, тупа, тиха.
Такая тяжкая, такая вялая,
И нет к ней доступа — она глуха.
Своими кольцами она, упорная,
Ко мне ласкается, меня душа.
И эта мертвая, и эта черная,
И эта страшная — моя душа!