, Ugrozhayushchie ili poslushnye, Raskachivayushchiesya v takt barabanam i svistu SHepchushchiesya, shepchushchiesya zmei, Dremlyushchie, izvivayushchiesya, vstayushchie dybom, No vse ravno shepchushchiesya, chut' slyshno shepchushchiesya. Velichie proklyatyh, Blazhenstvo rabstva, otchayan'ya, smerti - Vse eto v tance shepchushchiesya zmej. Per. Anatoliya Kudryavickogo - 87 - A newspaper is a collection of half-injustices Which, bawled by boys from mile to mile, Spreads its curious opinion To a million merciful and sneering men. While families cuddle the joys of the fireside When spurred by tale of dire lone agony. A newspaper is a court Where every one is kindly and unfairly tried By a squalor of honest men. A newspaper is a market Where wisdom sells its freedom And melons are crowned by the crowd. A newspaper is a game Where his error scores the player victory While another's skill wins death. A newspaper is a symbol; It is fetless life's chronicle, A collection of loud tales Concentrating eternal stupidities, That in remote ages lived unhaltered, Roaming through a fenceless world. Gazeta - eto podborka polupravd, Kotorye na kazhdom uglu vykrikivayut mal'chishki, Donosya nesuraznye suzhdeniya Do millionov snishoditel'nyh i nasmeshlivyh lyudej, CH'i sem'i v eto vremya, sidya u kamina, Smakuyut dusherazdirayushchie rosskazni o ch'ej-nibud' gibeli Gazeta - eto sud, Kotoryj ispravno i nepravedno vershit nad kazhdym Tupost' chestnyh lyudej. Gazeta - eto torzhishche, Gde mudrost' prodaet svoyu svobodu, A tykvennye golovy uvenchivaet chern'. Gazeta - eto igra, V kotoroj promah prinosit igroku pobedu, A masterstvo vedet ego k gibeli. Gazeta - eto simvol, Bespoleznaya hronika zhizni, Nabor gromkih spleten, Gusto zameshannyj na neistrebimyh glupostyah, CHto perezhili dolgie veka, Bluzhdaya po bezzashchitnomu miru. Per. Anatoliya Kudryavickogo Gazeta - sobranie polupravd, Gromkie kriki mal'chishek milya za milej Donosyat ee nelepoe mnenie Do milliona nasmeshnikov i sostradatelej. Sem'i sbivayutsya v kuchu u ochaga I s vostorgom chitayut o smerti zhestokoj lyubvi. Gazeta - sudilishche, Gde kazhdogo sudit staratel'no, nespravedlivo Ubozhestvo chestnyh lyudej. Gazeta - bazar, Gde mudrost' torguet svoej svobodoj, A tolpy venchayut arbuznye golovy. Gazeta - igra, v kotoroj Ee proschety prinosyat ej vyigrysh, A iskusstvo protivnika idet emu na pogibel'. Gazeta - simvol, Letopis' bespoleznoj zhizni, Sobranie gulkih spleten Sredotochie vechnoj tuposti, Idushchej po miru, ne znaya pregrad, Iz otdalennyh stoletij. Per. Andreya Sergeeva - 88 - The wayfarer Perceiving the pathway to truth Was struck with astonishment. It was thickly grown with weeds. "Ha," he said, "I see that none has passed here In a long time." Later he saw that each weed Was a singular knife. "Well," he mumbled at last, "Doubtless there are other roads." Putnik, Otyskavshij tropinku k Pravde, Vdrug zastyl v izumlenii: Ona gusto zarosla travoj. - Gm, - skazal on, - Pohozhe, zdes' davno uzhe Nikto ne hodil. Potom on zametil, chto kazhdaya travinka Ostryj nozh. - M-da, - probormotal on togda, - Poishchu-ka ya druguyu dorogu. Per. Anatoliya Kudryavickogo Putnik Nabrel na dorogu k istine I izumilsya: Tak gusto ona zarosla travoj. - Ba! - skazal on, - YA vizhu, davnym-davno tut Nikto ne hodil. - I vdrug on zametil, chto kazhdaya Travinka - nozh. - M-da, - zaklyuchil on, - Konechno, dolzhny byt' drugie dorogi. Per. Andreya Sergeeva - 89 - A slant of sun on dull brown walls A forgotten sky of bashful blue. Toward God a mighty hymn A song of collisions and cries Rumbling wheels, hoof-beats, bells, Welcomes, farewells, love-calls, final moans, Voices of joy, idiocy, warning, despair, The unknown appeals of brutes, The chanting of flowers The screams of cut trees, The senseless babble of hens and wise men- A clutteres incoherency that says at the stars: "Oh, God, save us." Solnechnye bliki na mrachnyh buryh stenah, Zabytaya chistota golubogo neba. Obrashchennyj k Tvorcu gromoglasnyj gimn, Pesn' yarosti i placha, Grohot koles, stuk kopyt, zvon kolokolov, Privetstviya, proshchaniya, vzdohi lyubvi, predsmertnye stony, Kriki radosti, bezumiya, straha, otchayan'ya, Temnyj zverinyj zov, Napevy raskryvayushchihsya butonov Tresk, padayushchih derev'ev, Bessmyslennoe kudahtan'e kur i filosofov - Ves' etot raznogolosyj hor, voznosyashchijsya k zvezdam: - Bozhe, spasi nas! Per. Anatoliya Kudryavickogo Solnechnyj luch, skol'zyashchij vdol' mrachnyh sten. Stydlivaya golubizna zabytyh nebes. Nesushchijsya k Gospodu moshchnyj gimn, Pesn' krushenij i krikov, Grohot koles, cokot kopyt, kolokol'nyj zvon, Gul privetstvij, proshchanij, priznanij, nadgrobnyh plachej, Vozglasy radosti, gluposti, predosterezhen'ya, otchayan'ya, Nevnyatnye zvuki zverinyh fraz, Psalmodii cvetushchih roz, Vizg perepilivaemyh derev'ev, Bessmyslennyj gomon kuric i mudrecov, Nestrojnyj gvalt, vopiyushchij azh k zvezdam glas: "Bozhe, spasi nas!" Per. Vladimira Britanishskogo - 90 - Once, a man, clambering to the house-tops, Appealed to the heavens. With strong voice he called to the deaf spheres; A warrior's shout he raised to the suns. Lo, at last, there was a dot on the clouds, And-at last and at last- -God-the sky was filled with armies. Odnazhdy chelovek, vzobravshis' na kryshu doma, Vozzval k nebesam. Gromovoj glas ego pronizal nebesnye sfery, Boevoj klich voznessya k samomu Solncu. I vot na oblakah poyavilis' temnye tochki, A so vremenem - Bozhe! - Vse nebo perepolnilos' vojskami. Per. Anatoliya Kudryavickogo - 91 - There was a man with tongue of wood Who essayed to sing, And in truth it was lamentable But there was one who heard The clip-clapper of this tongue of wood And knew what the man Wished to sing, And with that the singer was content. ZHil na svete chelovek s derevyannym gorlom; On proboval pet', Hotya, po pravde govorya, Rezul'taty byli plachevnymi. Odnako nashelsya tot, Kto slushal shchelkan'e derevyannogo gorla I ponimal, chto pevec pytaetsya vyrazit'. Pevec byl etim nemalo dovolen. Per. Anatoliya Kudryavickogo ZHil-byl chelovek - derevyannyj yazyk I proboval pet' I poistine zhalkie byli potugi No byl odin kotoryj slushal Kak kolotitsya derevyannyj yazyk I ponimal o chem tot chelovek Pytaetsya pet' I pevec byl rad ibo on byl ponyat. Per. Vladimira Britanishskogo - 92 - The successful man has thrust himself Through the water of the years, Reeking wet with mistakes, Bloody mistakes; Slimed with victories over the lesser A figure thankful on the shore of money. Then, with the bones of fools He buys silken banners Limned with his triumphant face, With the skins of wise men He buys the trivial bows of all. Flesh painted with marrow Contributes a coverlet A coverlet for his contented slumber In guiltless ignorance, in ignorant guilt He delivers his secrets to the riven multitude. "Thus I defended: Thus I wrought." Complacent, smiling He stands heavily on the dead. Erect on a pillar of skulls He declaims his trampling of babes; Smirking, fat, dripping He makes his speech in guiltless ignorance, Innocence. Preuspevayushchij chelovek, izlovchivshis', proshel po vodam let. Pokrytyj mokrymi pyatnami oshibok, Krovavyh oshibok, Ustavshij ot pobed nad slabymi, Stoit on teper' na denezhnom beregu, Slovno statuya Blagodarnosti. Vot, rasplachivayas' kostyami glupcov, Pokupaet on shelkovye znamena, Na kotoryh vyshit ego torzhestvuyushchij lik; Rasplachivayas' skal'pami mudryh, Pokupaet kazhdodnevnye poklony okruzhayushchih. Iz zhivoj ploti, pronizannoj obnazhennymi nervami, Sotkano pokryvalo, Pokryvalo, pod kotorym vidit on bezmyatezhnye sny. Izobrazhaya neveden'e i nevinnost', yavlyaya nevezhestvo i vinu, Poveryaet on svoi sekrety razobshchennoj tolpe: - Vot tak ya i ne dal sebya v obidu; tak ya dobilsya svoego Samodovol'nyj, ulybayushchijsya, Tyazhelo stoit on na mertvyh kostyah, Na postamente iz cherepov, Rasskazyvaya vsem, kak popiral mladencev. Otkormlennyj, razvyaznyj, uhmylyayushchijsya, Proiznosit on svoj spich v blazhennom neveden'i - Sama nevinnost'. Per. Anatoliya Kudryavickogo - 93 - In the night Grey, heavy clouds muffled the valleys, And the peaks looked toward God, alone. "Oh, Master that movest the wind with a finger, Humble, idle, futile peaks are we. Grant that we may run swiftly across the world To huddle in worship at Thy feet." In the morning A noise of men at work came the clear blue miles And the little black cities were apparent. "Oh, Master that knowest the meaning of rain- Humble, idle, futile peaks are we. Give voice to us, we pray, 0 Lord, That we may sing Thy goodness to the sun." In the evening The far valleys were sprinkled with tiny lights. "Oh, Master, Thou who knowest the value of kings and birds, Thou hast made us humble, idle, futile peaks. Thou only needest eternal patience; We bow to Thy wisdom, 0 Lord- Humble, idle, futile peaks." In the night Grey, heavy clouds muffled the valleys And the peaks looked toward God, alone. Noch'yu Serye, svincovye oblaka okutali doliny I gory tshchetno pytalis' uvidet' Boga, odinokie. - O Sozdatel', vzdymayushchij veter dvizheniem pal'ca, My smirennye, prazdnye, bespoleznye gory. Pozvol' nam bystro obezhat' ves' shar zemnoj, CHtoby povergnut' nashe preklonenie k stopam tvoim. Utrom Zvuki lyudskogo truda raznosilis' po golubym milyam nebes I malen'kie chernye goroda byli yasno razlichimy. - O Sozdatel', znayushchij prednaznachen'e dozhdevyh kapel', My smirennye, prazdnye, bespoleznye gory. Otkliknis', umolyaem tebya, Gospodi, I my donesem pesn' o velikodushii tvoem do Solnca. Vecherom Po dal'nim dolinam byli razbryzgany kroshechnye ogon'ki. - O Sozdatel', Ty, znayushchij cenu monarham i pticam, Sotvoril nas smirennymi, prazdnymi, bespoleznymi gorami, Ty hochesh' lish' polnogo pokoya; My sklonyaemsya pred tvoej mudrost'yu, Gospodi, My, smirennye, prazdnye, bespoleznye gory. Noch'yu Serye, svincovye oblaka okutali doliny, I gory tshchetno pytalis' uvidet' Boga, odinokie. Per. Anatoliya Kudryavickogo - 98 - The chatter of a death-demon from a tree-top. Blood-blood and torn grass- Had marked the rise of his agony- This lone hunter. The grey-green woods impassive Had watched the threshing of his limbs. A canoe with flashing paddle A girl with soft searching eyes, A call: "John!" Come, arise, hunter! Can you not hear? The chatter of a death-demon from a tree-top. Demon smerti bormochet na vershine dereva. Krov', krov' i vyrvannaya s kornem trava - Tak nachalas' agoniya, Agoniya odinokogo ohotnika. Sero-zelenyj les Bezuchastno vziral Na ego predsmertnye sudorogi. Lodka s b'yushchimi po vode veslami, Devushka s nezhnym, polnymi trevogi glazami, Ee zov: - Dzhon! Vosstan', otkliknis', ohotnik! Neuzheli ty ne slyshish'? Demon smerti bormochet na vershine dereva. Per. Anatoliya Kudryavickogo - 95 - The impact of a dollar upon the heart Smiles warm red light Sweeping from the hearth rosily upon the white table, With the hanging cool velvet shadows Moving softly upon the door. The impact of a million dollars Is a crash of flunkeys And yawning emblems of Persia Cheeked against oak, France and a sabre, The outcry of old beauty Whored by pimping merchants To submission before wine and chatter. Silly rich peasants stamp the carpets of men, Dead men who dreamed fragrance and light Into their woof, their lives; The rug of an honest bear Under the foot of a cryptic slave Who speaks always of baubles, Forgetting place, multitude, work and state, Champing and mouthing of hats Making ratful squeak of hats, Hats. Dejstvie dollara na serdce - |to veselyj teplyj krasnyj ogonek, Otblesk pylayushchego kamina na beloj skaterti, Spokojnye barhatnye teni, Netoroplivo dvizhushchiesya po stvorkam dveri. Dejstvie milliona dollarov - |to krah neudachnikov, Ziyashchie emblemy Persii, Naglo vystavlennye protiv simvolov doblesti i chesti, Vzvizgivan'e staroj krasotki, Kotoroj stroyat kury besstyzhie kupcy Za vinom i zastol'noj besedoj. Glupye razbogatevshie fermery shtampuyut kovry iz lyudej, Mertvyh lyudej, mechtavshih vplesti svet i blagouhan'e V tkan' svoej zhizni; Poloviki iz teh, kto vel chestnuyu igru, Lezhat pod nogami temnyh lichnostej s rab'imi dushami, Kotorye vechno boltayut o pustyakah, Zabyvaya ob okruzhenii, o lyudyah, o dele, o rodine, Bez umolku treshchat o shlyapkah, Po-krysinomu pishchat o shlyapkah, O shlyapkah. Per. Anatoliya Kudryavickogo - 96 - A man said to the universe: "Sir, I exist" "However," replied the universe, "The fact has not created in me A sense of obligation." CHelovek skazal Vselennoj: - Smotri! YA sushchestvuyu! - Da, - otvetila Vselennaya, - No sej fakt eshche ne oznachaet, CHto ya dolzhna o tebe zabotit'sya. Per. Anatoliya Kudryavickogo CHelovek obratilsya k kosmosu: "Sudar', ya sushchestvuyu!" "Odnako zhe, - vozrazil emu kosmos, - |tot fakt ne rodil vo mne CHuvstvo dolga". Per. Vladimira Britanishskogo - 97 - When the prophet, a complacent fat man, Arrived at the mountain-top He cried: "Woe to my knowledge! I intended to see good white lands And bad black lands- But the scene is grey." Vzobravshis' na vershinu gory, prorok, Polnyj blagodushnyj chelovek, Vskrichal: - Bud' proklyat ves' moj zhiznennyj opyt! YA dumal, horoshie strany - svetlye, A plohie - temnye. No oni zhe vse serye! Per. Anatoliya Kudryavickogo Kogda prorok, samodovol'nyj i zhirnyj, Vskarabkalsya na krutuyu goru, On vskrichal: "O, moj zhalkij razum! YA dumal uvidet' blagie belye strany I durnye chernye strany, YA vizhu - seruyu panoramu". Per. Vladimira Britanishskogo - 98 - There was a land where lived no violets. A traveller at once demanded: "Why?" The people told him: "Once the violets of this place spoke thus: 'Until some woman freely gives her lover To another woman We will fight in bloody scuffle.'" Sadly the people added: "There are no violets here." Byla na svete strana, gde ne rosli fialki. Puteshestvennik kak-to sprosil, v chem tut delo. Lyudi dali emu takoj otvet: - Odnazhdy fialki, rosshie v etih mestah, skazali: "Do teh por, poka hot' odna zhenshchina po dobroj vole Ne otdast drugoj svoego vozlyublennogo, My budem srazhat'sya mezhdu soboj v krovoprolitnyh boyah". Lyudi s grust'yu dobavili: - Teper' zdes' net fialok. Per. Anatoliya Kudryavickogo - 100 - * Aye, workman, make me a dream A dream for my love. Cunningly weave sunlight, Breezes and flowers. Let it be of the cloth of meadows. And-good workman- And let there be a man walking thereon. O iskusnyj master! Proshu tebya, sotvori son, Son dlya moej lyubimoj. Berezhno spleti v nem solnechnyj svet, Nezhnyj veterok, cvety. Pust' prisnitsya ej shelkovistaya tkan' luga I - moj dobryj master - Pust' uvidit ona togo, kto gulyaet po nemu. Per. Anatoliya Kudryavickogo {Pod e 99 v izdanii "The Poems of Stephen Crane" (A critical edition by Joseph Katz), New York, 1966, povtorno pomeshcheno stihotvorenie e 33. Delo v tom, chto ono bylo vklyucheno Krejnom v oba prizhiznennyh sbornika ego stihov.} - 101 - Each small gleam was a voice -A lantern voice- In little songs of carmine, violet, green, gold. A chorus of colors came over the water; The wondrous leaf shadow no longer wavered, No pines crooned on the hills The blue night was elsewhere a silence When the chorus of colors came over the water, Little songs of carmine, violet, green, gold. Small glowing pebbles Thrown on the dark plane of evening Sing good ballads of God And eternity, with soul's rest. Little priests, little holy fathers None can doubt the truth of your hymning When the marvellous chorus comes over the water Songs of carmine, violet, green, gold. Mimoletnye otbleski byli golosami - Svetozarnymi golosami - Slivshimisya v karminnye, lilovye, zelenye, zolotye melodii. Hor krasok zavladel vodoyu; Ne kolyhalis' bol'she prichudlivye teni derev'ev, Ne peli sosny na holmah, Nichto ne narushalo tishinu sinego vechera, I hor krasok rascvetil vodu Karminnymi, lilovymi, zelenymi, zolotymi melodiyami. Malen'kie sverkayushchie kameshki, Broshennye na temnoe pokryvalo sumerek, Poyut charuyushchie ballady o Boge, O vechnosti i dushevnom pokoe. Malen'kie serafimy, malen'kie apostoly, Nel'zya ne verit' vashim pesnopeniyam, Kogda chudesnyj hor rascvechivaet vodu Karminnymi, lilovymi, zelenymi, zolotymi melodiyami. Per. Anatoliya Kudryavickogo - 102 - The trees in the garden rained flowers. Children ran there joyously. They gathered the flowers Each to himself. Now there were some Who gathered great heaps- -Having opportunity and skill- Until, behold, only chance blossoms Remained for the feeble. Then a little spindling tutor Ran importantly to the father, crying: "Pray, come hither! See this unjust thing in your garden!" But when the father had surveyed, He admonished the tutor: "Not so, small sage! This thing is just. For,look you, Are not they who possess the flowers Stronger, bolder, shrewder Than they who have none? Why should the strong- -The beautiful strong- Why should they not have the flowers?" Upon reflection, the tutor bowed to the ground. "My Lord," he said, "The stars are misplaced By this towering wisdom." Sad byl useyan cvetami, slovno kaplyami dozhdya; Tam veselo igrali deti, Kazhdyj iz nih Sobiral cvety. Vyshlo tak, chto nekotorye - - Samye lovkie - Pol'zuyas' sluchaem, nabrali bol'shie ohapki, A dlya slabyh ostalos' lish' neskol'ko cvetochkov. Togda malen'kij tshchedushnyj nastavnik detej S ozabochennym vidom pribezhal k otcu, kricha: - Umolyayu, idemte so mnoj! Vzglyanite, chto za bezobraziya tvoryatsya v vashem sadu! No kogda otec ponyal, chto proishodit, On upreknul nastavnika: - Ty ne prav, malen'kij mudrec! Vse eto v poryadke veshchej. Razve ty ne vidish': Deti, zavladevshie cvetami, Sil'nee, smelee, hitree teh, Kto ostalsya s pustymi rukami. Pochemu by sil'nym - - Voistinu sil'nym - Pochemu im ne prisvoit' vse cvety? Porazmysliv, nastavnik ponik glavoyu. - Gospodi, - skazal on, - Zvezdy padayut s neba Ot takoj snogsshibatel'noj mudrosti. Per. Anatoliya Kudryavickogo - 103 - "INTRIGUE" Thou art my love And thou art the peace of sundown When the blue shadows soothe And the grasses and the leaves sleep To the song of the little brooks Woe is me. Thou art my love And thou art a storm That breaks black in the sky And, sweeping headlong, Drenches and cowers each tree And at the panting end There is no sound Save the melancholy cry of a single owl Woe is me! Thou art my love And thou art a tinsel thing And I in my play Broke thee easily And from the little fragments Arose my long sorrow Woe is me Thou art my love And thou art a weary violet Drooping from sun-caresses. Answering mine carelessly Woe is me. Thou art my love And thou art the ashes of other men's love And I bury my face in these ashes And I love them Woe is me. Thou art my love And thou art the beard On another man's face Woe is me. Thou art my love And thou art a temple And in this temple is an altar And on this altar is my heart Woe is me. Thou art my love And thou art a wretch. Let these sacred love-lies choke thee For I am come to where I know your lies as truth And your truth as lies Woe is me. Thou art my love And thou art a priestess And in thy hand is a bloody dagger And my doom comes to me surely Woe is me. Thou art my love And thou art a skull with ruby eyes And I love thee Woe is me. Thou art my love And I doubt thee And if peace came with thy murder Then would I murder. Woe is me. Thou art my love And thou art death Aye, thou art death Black and yet black But I love thee I love thee Woe, welcome woe, to me. LYUBOVX Ty lyubov' moya, Ty tishina v chas zakata, Kogda zamirayut golubye teni, Zasypayut list'ya i travy, Ubayukannye peniem ruch'ya. Gore mne. Ty lyubov' moya, Ty burya, CHto prodiraet chernye breshi v nebe I, bezuderzhno rydaya, Zahlestyvaet vodoj i treplet kazhdoe derevo, Poka, vkonec zadohnuvshis', ne umolknet; A posle - ni zvuka, Lish' pechal'nyj krik odinokoj sovy. Gore mne. Ty lyubov' moya, Ty sverkayushchaya bezdelushka, Kotoruyu ya sluchajno razbil, Igraya, I iz melkih oskolkov Vzrosla moya bezmernaya pechal'. Gore mne. Ty lyubov' moya, Ty tomnaya fialka, Ponikshaya pod laskami solnca, Povinuyushchayasya mne bezdumno. Gore mne. Ty lyubov' moya, Ty prah lyubvi tvoih prezhnih vozlyublennyh, I ya pryachu lico v etom prahe, YA lyublyu ego. Gore mne. Ty lyubov' moya, Ty boroda Na lice drugogo muzhchiny. Gore mne. Ty lyubov' moya, Ty hram, I vo hrame tom est' altar', I na altare tom lezhit moe serdce. Gore mne. Ty lyubov' moya, Ty ved'ma; Pust' proklyataya lozh', chto spletena s tvoej lyubov'yu, Zadushit tebya - Ved' ya doshel do togo, chto vo lzhi tvoej vizhu pravdu, A v pravde tvoej - lozh'. Gore mne. Ty lyubov' moya, Ty zhrica, V rukah tvoih okrovavlennyj kinzhal, I rok neotvratimo nastigaet menya. Gore mne. Ty lyubov' moya, Ty cherep s rubinami v glaznicah, I ya lyublyu tebya. Gore mne. Ty lyubov' moya, I ya boyus' tebya; Esli b smert' tvoya prinesla mne pokoj, YA ubil by tebya. Gore mne. Ty lyubov' moya, Ty smert', Da, ty smert', CHernee samogo mraka, No ya lyublyu tebya, YA lyublyu tebya. Gore, prihodi, prihodi ko mne. Per. Anatoliya Kudryavickogo - 104 - Love forgive me if I wish you grief For in your grief You huddle to my breast And for it Would I pay the price of your grief You walk among men And all men do not surrender And this I understand That love reaches his hand In mercy to me. He had your picture in his room A scurvy traitor picture And he smiled -Merely a fat complacence Of men who know fine women- And thus I divided with him A part of my love Fool, not to know that thy little shoe Can make men weep! -Some men weep. I weep and I gnash And I love the little shoe The little, little shoe. God give me medals God give me loud honors That I may strut before you, sweetheart And be worthy of- -The love I bear you. Now let me crunch you With full weight of affrighted love I doubted you -I doubted you- And in this short doubting My love grew like a genie For my further undoing. Beware of my Mends Be not in speech too sivil For in all courtesy My weak heart sees spectres, Mists of desires Arising from the lips of my chosen Be not civil. The flower I gave thee once Was incident to a stride A detail of a gesture But search those pale petals And see engraven thereon A record of my intention. Lyubimaya, prosti, chto mne hochetsya videt' tebya pechal'noj - Ved', stradaya, Ty prizhimaesh'sya k moej grudi, A za eto Gotov ya zaplatit' cenu tvoej pechali. Ty okruzhena lyud'mi, I oni ne izbegayut obshcheniya s toboj, I togda ya ponimayu, CHto lyubimaya kasaetsya chuzhoj ruki, Sostradaya mne. On povesil u sebya v komnate tvoj portret, Portret, stavshij podlym predatelem, I on smeyalsya - To bylo lish' glupoe samodovol'stvo CHeloveka, privykshego byvat' sredi krasivyh zhenshchin - I vot tak ya podelil s nim CHasticu moej lyubvi. Glupec, kak zhe ya ne znal, chto tvoya malen'kaya tufel'ka Mozhet byt' prichinoj muzhskih slez! - CH'ih-to slez. YA plachu tozhe, ya skrezheshchu zubami, I ya lyublyu etu malen'kuyu tufel'ku, Malen'kuyu, malen'kuyu tufel'ku. Bog daroval mne medali, Bog nagradil menya gromkimi pochestyami, I ya mogu pohvalit'sya pered toboj, vozlyublennaya, I byt' dostojnym Lyubvi, chto ya daryu tebe. Pozvol' zhe mne obrushit' na tebya Vsyu tyazhest' muchitel'noj strasti. YA somnevalsya v tebe - YA somnevalsya v tebe - I ot etogo kratkogo somneniya Moya lyubov' vyrosla, slovno dzhinn, Kotoryj vskore pogubit menya. Osteregajsya druzej moih, Ne bud' s nimi chereschur obhoditel'noj, Ved' takaya uchtivost' Ranit moe bezzashchitnoe serdce, I mne vidyatsya prizraki, tuman vozhdeleniya, Podnimayushchijsya ot gub tvoih, lyubimaya. Ne bud' chereschur obhoditel'noj. Cvetok, chto ya odnazhdy podaril tebe, Byl znakom rozhdayushchegosya chuvstva, Malen'koj chasticej moego prekloneniya, No vzglyani na eti poblekshie lepestki I prochti zapechatlennuyu na nih Povest' o moih nadezhdah. Per. Anatoliya Kudryavickogo - 105 - Ah, God, the way your little finger moved As you thrust a bare arm backward And made play with your hair And a comb a silly gilt comb Ah, God-that I should suffer Because of the way a little finger moved. O moj Gospod', odno lish' dvizhenie tvoego pal'ca, Kogda ty podnyal ruku I, zabavlyayas', raschesyval volosy Obyknovennym zolochenym grebnem, O moj Gospod', kakie stradaniya ono prineslo mne, Odno lish' dvizhenie tvoego pal'ca! Per. Anatoliya Kudryavickogo - 106 - Once I saw thee idly rocking -Idly rocking- And chattering girlishly to other girls, Bell-voiced, happy, Careless with the stout heart of unscarred womanhood And life to thee was all light melody. I thought of the great storms of love as I know it Tom, miserable and ashamed of my open sorrow, I thought of the thunders that lived in my head And I wish to be an ogre And hale and haul my beloved to a castle And there use the happy cruel one cruelly And make her mourn with my mourning Odnazhdy ya videl, kak ty prazdno pokachivalas' na kachelyah - Prazdno pokachivalas' - I po-devich'i boltala s podrugami, Zvonkogolosaya, schastlivaya, Voplotivshaya bezzabotnost' i besstrastie neomrachennoj zhenstvennosti, ZHizn' dlya tebya byla kak nezhnaya melodiya. YA dumal o perezhityh mnoyu neistovyh buryah lyubvi; Isterzannyj, neschastnyj, stydyashchijsya svoej neodolimoj pechali, YA dumal o gromovyh raskatah, zvuchavshih v moej golove, I mne zahotelos' stat' svirepym velikanom, Shvatit' lyubimuyu i zatashchit' v svoj zamok, Proyavit' k nej vsyu zhestokost', na kakuyu ya sposoben, I zastavit' ee stradat' tak, kak stradayu ya. Per. Anatoliya Kudryavickogo - 107 - Tell me why, behind thee, I see always the shadow of another lover? Is it real Or is this the thrice-damned memory of a better happiness? Plague on him if he be dead Plague on him if he be alive A swinish numbskull To intrude his shade Always between me and my peace Skazhi, pochemu za tvoej spinoj YA vsegda vizhu ten' tvoego prezhnego lyubovnika? On chto, yavlyaetsya sobstvennoj personoj, Ili eto trizhdy