Zinaida Gippius
The Word?

They would pass by, and again depart,
They could not deceive me...
There is a certain, single word
Which encompasses the entire essence.

The others — are dried feather-grass.
The others — are all flotsam,
Gray dust.
A girl walked across the street,
An auto screamed a word to her...
And then, the crowd stood over her,
But the girl is gone — there’s only dust.

Don’t you agree that people
Have such odd ears and eyes?
Don’t you agree that everywhere
Lines and sounds are so obscure?
The whole world is here,
Yet its essence is lost to us...
But the animals know the word,
The mute animals:
A Pekinese,
Naked and coarse-skinned,
Trembling on a May evening
At the doorstep of some club.
Watches cautiously —
And is silent for thirteen years,
As the cat is silent
In the bakery on Muette.

Animals can’t speak
People can’t comprehend,
And the world grows gray, like dust,
Falling into uselessness...

Translated by Temira Pachmuss