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    Итальянский (Italian)

Il sesto senso

Шестое чувство

Amiamo il vino che beviamo
E il buon pane che nel forno aspetta,
E la donna dalla sorte data,
Che pur se affligge, poi ci diletta.

Ma che fare dell’alba rosata
Lassù in alto nei cieli gelati.
Dov’è il silenzio e la celeste quiete,
Che fare dei versi immortalati?

Non da mangiare, da bere, da baciare.
L’attimo fugge via con rimpianto.
Ci torciamo le mani, ma di nuovo
Passiamo sempre accanto, accanto.

Come un bambino, lasciato il suo gioco,
Segue una fanciulla al bagno,
E, non sapendo nulla dell’amore,
Prova di segreta voglia un travaglio;

Come una volta nel folto equiseto
Gemeva per la sua impotenza
Una creatura viscida, che delle ali
Non sentiva ancora la presenza;

Così per secoli – sarà presto, Signore? –
Sotto lo scalpello dell’arte e del creato
Grida il nostro spirito, la carne si sfibra,
E l’organo del sesto senso è nato.

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From the Serpent`s Nest

What I took from the serpent's nest, / the serpent's nest in Kiev, / was a witch, not a wife. / I wanted a girl for the fun of it, / some high-powered fun girl, / some singing songbird. / / Call her: she makes a face. / Hug her: she fights back. / The moon shines, she moans, / a...

The Urchin

I'll walk along the tracks, / thinking, following / the thread of the running rails / across the yellow sky, the scarlet sky. / / I'll go to the gloomy / station, shivering - / if the watchmen don't shout / and chase me off. / / And later, determined to remember, / I'll think...

Love

Arrogant as a boy, the lyric / poet came in, did not knock, / said only that I was now / to love only him. Only him. / / With a scowl he slammed / my book shut, stamped / his patent leather shoe and / murmured, "How dull." / / The nerve, to be perfumed like that! / ...

To a Girl

I don't care for the indolence / in your crossed arms, / their calm modesty, / their shy fright. / / You could have been written by Turgenev: / haughty, delicate, pure, / reeking of autumn that never / roars down the lane, where leaves whirl. / / Everything you believe / is m...

Fragment

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The Eternal

In a tunnel of locked days / where even the sky presses painfully / I can see centuries, I live in minutes, / but I wait for the Sabbath of Sabbaths: / / The end of anxiety, the end of success, the end / to my soul's blind wandering... / Oh time when I too will open my eyes / and kn...