Z cyklu «Sentimentálni pouť»

Chladná, stříbrná záře
na nebi v oblacích.
Stambul a Skutari v ranní páře,
loď naše uprostřed nich.
Člunky skáčou jak delfíni
a tvoje mladé rty
smáčeny vlnami slanými
jsou solí pokryty.
Pohled — jak rezavá hříva lví
tři velká úskalí:
jsou to Princovy ostrovy,
co z modrých mlh vyvstaly.
Moře jak průsvitný jantar,
krvavých korálů les,
nebo tam červánek zapaď
cestou do nebes?
Ne, to roj červených medúz
ve vlnách barevně hrál,
jak říkal nám jeden Francouz,
co tobě se dvoříval.
Už přichází zase, vidíš,
ruku ti políbit.
Já, který miluji přlíš,
mohu snad žárlivým být?

V noci, když spalas tiše,
já seděl nad tebou,
tvá hruď jak carská číše
tak divně se bělela tmou.

Plujeme dávnou cestou,
jak značí ji ptactva let,
my opravdu plujem, ne ve snu
v kraj zlatých pohádek.

Другие переводы:

Немецкий
Ирмгард Вилле
Sentimentale Reise

А вот еще:

Manlius

Manlius was thrown down, / The ruling few preserved their wealth, / Their power remains as dour, / As the Tarpeian Rock itself. / / Like the waves Rome was roughing, / Cries were cutting through the gloom, / But the man was gently laughing, / Falling down to meet his doom. / / ...

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 ...

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