Не виреят цветя у мен…

У меня не живут цветы...

Не виреят цветя у мен.
Хубостта им е някак рехава.
Постоят ден-два и вехнат.
Не виреят цветя у мен.

То и птици не кацат тук.
Само над покрива ще преминат,
а след тях — мъничко перушина.
Даже птици не кацат тук.

Само книги си имам аз.
Осем реда дебели книги.
Вековете текат като лиги
от тази осемчелюстна паст.

Купих ги от един стар букинист —
дрипав, грозен, полусакат,
търгуващ край гробището — отзад.
Купих ги от един стар букинист.

Другие переводы:

А вот еще:


I know a woman, full of silence, / Her bitter weariness from words, / Dwells in mysterious, blinking eyelids / Their widened pupils, secret worlds. / Her soul is greedily wide open / To copper music of sweet verse. / To life, that’s worldly, pleasant often, / She’s deaf and...

The Red Sea

Greetings, Red Sea, shark soup, / Negro bath, sand cauldron! / Like stone cactus flowers / limestone, not moss, blooms on your cliffs. / / Sea-monsters swept up by the tide lie dying / in anguish, out on your islands / in the burning sand: octopi, tritons, swordfish. / / From Afr...

The Sick Man

Only one thing torments my delirium: / how certain sharp lines go on for ever, / and a bell rings and rings and rings / like a clock marking off eternity. / / Just so, after death, / eyes stare into darkness / (the agonized hope of resurrection) / trying to see familiar visions. / ...


This country could have been paradise: / it’s a den of fire. / We've been advancing for four days, / we’ve not eaten for four days. / / In this strange, bright hour / we don’t need earth’s bread: / the Lord’s Word / is better nourishment. / / The b...

The Cathedral at Padua

Marvellous, and sad - yes, that’s what this temple / is - a joy, a temptation, a threat. / Eyes exhausted with desire / bum in the slits of confessional windows. / / The organ melody rises, falls, / then swells fuller and more terrible, / like blood in dark church-granite veins ...

The Sun of the Spirit

How could we walk in peace, before, / expecting no joy, no disaster, / not dreaming of battles, of flaming retreats, / or the roaring trumpet of victory ? / / How could we - but it’s not too late, / the sun of the spirit bends down to us - / soothing, threatening, it pours / a...