• Язык:
    Английский (English)

Memory

Память

Snakes shed their skins
and their souls grow mellow.
We do it differently, we change
souls, not bodies.

Like an Amazon, Memory leads life
like a horse on a rope:
Tell me, Memory, who lived
in this body before I came.

The first one: homely, thin,
loving only the twilight of trees,
and dead leaves, a witch-child
who stopped the rain with a word.

His friends: a chestnut dog
and a tree. Oh Memory, Memory,
don’t try to tell the world
that child was me.

And next: this one loved the south wind,
and every noise rang lyres in his head;
life was his girl, his friend, he said,
and the rug he stood on — that was the world.

I hate his guts. He wanted
to be God, to be king;
he hung a poet’s shingle
on die door of this my silent house.

Ah, but the one who chose freedom, him
I love, the sailor, the marksman:
the sea sang to him,
the clouds were jealous.

His tent rose tall,
his mules ran strong and hard;
he drank the sweet air like wine,
there where white men never walk.

But Memory, from one year to the next
you’re feebler: Who’s that, next, the one
who traded freedom
for sacred war, long-awaited war ? Is that him ?

The one who discovered hunger,
bad dreams, an endless, endless path —
but Saint George touched him twice
and never bullets.

I am the stubborn architect
of this dark temple,
I am jealous of our Father’s heavenly
glory, and His earthly glory.

Flames roast my heart, will roast my heart
until the new Jerusalem’s
clear, pure walls rise
in Russian fields.

And then, a strange wind will blow
— and Heaven will rain a terrible light,
a sudden-blooming Milky Way,
a dazzling planet-garden.

And I will see a stranger, but
not his hidden face — but I’ll know,
I’ll know, when I see a lion running behind him
and an eagle up over his head.

I’ll shout, I’ll scream — but who could help me?
My soul will die.
Snakes shed their skins, we change
souls, not bodies.

Другие переводы:


А вот еще:

She

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. / ...

Offensive

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...