Стихи
Дортуар весной
Стихи 1906 г.
«He смейтесь вы над юным поколеньем!..»
Маме
Отрывок
Стихи 1908 г.
В зале
В Кремле
Второе путешествие
Даме с камелиями
Жертвам школьных сумерок
Лесное царство
Летом
«Месяц высокий над городом лег...»
Мирок
Первое путешествие
«Проснулась улица. Глядит, усталая...»
Самоубийство
Сереже
У гробика
Эпитафия
Стихи 1909 г.
Die stille Strasse
Акварель
Асе
Баловство
В Ouchy
В Люксембургском саду
В Париже
В сумерках
В чужой лагерь
В Шенбрунне
Вокзальный силуэт
Встреча
Втроем
Дама в голубом
Инцидент за супом
Как мы читали «Lichtenstein»
«Как простор наших горестных нив...»
Камерата
Книги в красном переплете
Лучший союз
Людовик XVII
Маленький паж
Мама за книгой
Молитва
На скалах
Наши царства
Нине
Новолунье
Отъезд
Памяти Нины Джаваха
Пленница
Пробужденье
Расставание
Сара в Версальском монастыре
Сестры
Сказочный Шварцвальд
Утомленье
Шарманка весной
Шуточное стихотворение
Эльфочка в зале
Эпитафия
Стихи 1910 г.
Perpetuum mobile
Ricordo di Tivoli
Rouge et bleue
Анжелика
Баярд
«Безнадежно-взрослый Вы? О, нет!..»
Бывшему чародею
В зеркале книги М. Д.-В.
В классе
В раю
В субботу
«Ваши белые могилки рядом...»
Волей луны
Волшебник
Встреча
Гимназистка
Два в квадрате
Два исхода
Девочка-смерть
Декабрьская сказка
Детская
Дикая воля
Добрый колдун
Добрый путь!
Ее слова
Еще молитва
Жар-птица
Живая цепочка
За книгами
Зеленое ожерелье
Зимняя сказка
Зимой
«И как прежде оне улыбались...»
«И уж опять они в полуистоме...»
Из сказки в жизнь
Исповедь
Итог дня
Картинка с конфеты
Каток растаял
Колыбельная песня Асе
Кроме любви
«Курлык»
Луч серебристый
Мальчик с розой
Мальчик-бред
Мама в саду
Мама на даче
Мама на лугу
Маме
Молитва в столовой
Молитва лодки
Мукa и мyка
«Мы с тобою лишь два отголоска...»
Мятежники
На бульваре
На заре
На концерте
На прощанье
«На солнце, на ветер, на вольный простор...»
Надпись в альбом
Наша зала
«Наши души, не правда ль, еще не привыкли к разлуке?..»
Не в нашей власти
«Не гони мою память! Лазурны края...»
Невестам мудрецов
Недоумение
Неравные братья
Ни здесь, ни там
Оба луча
Обреченная
«Он был синеглазый и рыжий...»
Они и мы
Осужденные
От четырех до семи
Очаг мудреца
Ошибка
Памятью сердца
Пасха в апреле
Первая роза
Письмо на розовой бумаге
Плохое оправданье
«По тебе тоскует наша зала...»
Победа
Под дождем
Под Новый год
Подрастающей
Поклонник Байрона
После праздника
Последняя встреча
Потомок шведских королей
Правда
Предсказанье
Привет из башни
Привет из вагона
Призрак царевны
Принц и лебеди
«Прости» Нине
Путь креста
Разные дети
Распятие
Резеда и роза
Связь через сны
Сердца и души
Сказки Соловьева
Скучные игры
Следующему
Совет
Столовая
Стук в дверь
Счастье
Так будет
«Так»
Три поцелуя
Тройственный союз
У кроватки
Угольки
Чародею
Эпилог
Эстеты
Юнге
Стихи 1911 г.
Aeternum vale
Бабушкин внучек
Барабан
Белоснежка
Болезнь
Бонапартисты
В пятнадцать лет
В сквере
В сонном царстве
В.Я. Брюсову
Венера
Весна в вагоне
Вождям
Волшебство
Герцог Рейхштадтский
Декабрь и январь
Детский день
Детский юг
До первой звезды
Домики старой Москвы
Душа и имя
Жажда
Зима
Из сказки - в сказку
Июль - апрелю
Конец сказки
Контрабандисты и бандиты
Конькобежцы
Кошки
Литературным прокурорам
Молитва морю
На возу
На вокзале
На радость
Неразлучной в дорогу
Облачко
Ока
Осень в Тарусе
Паром
Первый бал
Полночь
После гостей
После чтения «Les rencontres de M. de Breot» Regner
Приезд
«Прости» волшебному дому
Рождественская дама
Розовая юность
Розовый домик
Слезы
Старуха
Тверская
Только девочка
Стихи 1912 г.
В.Я. Брюсову
«Он приблизился, крылатый...»
Стихи 1913 г.
Аля
Асе
Байрону
«Быть нежной, бешеной и шумной...»
«В тяжелой мантии торжественных обрядов...»
«Взгляните внимательно и если возможно - нежнее...»
Восклицательный знак
Встреча с Пушкиным
«Вы родились певцом и пажем...»
«Вы, идущие мимо меня...»
Генералам двенадцатого года
«Идешь, на меня похожий...»
«Идите же! - Мой голос нем...»
«Макс Волошин первый был...»
«Мальчиком, бегущим резво...»
«Моим стихам, написанным так рано...»
«Посвящаю эти строки...»
Сергею Эфрон-Дурново
«Сердце, пламени капризней...»
«Солнцем жилки налиты - не кровью...»
«Ты, чьи сны еще непробудны...»
«Уж сколько их упало в эту бездну...»
«Я сейчас лежу ничком...»
Стихи 1914 г.
Але
Бабушке
«В огромном липовом саду...»
В ответ на стихотворение
Германии
«Над Феодосией угас...»
«Не думаю, не жалуюсь, не спорю...»
«Радость всех невинных глаз...»
С. Э.
«Собаки спущены с цепи...»
«Уж часы - который час?..»
«Я видела Вас три раза...»
Стихи 1915 г.
Анне Ахматовой
Асе
«Безумье - и благоразумье...»
«Бессрочно кораблю не плыть...»
«Быть в аду нам, сестры пылкие...»
«В гибельном фолианте...»
«В тумане, синее ладана...»
«Все Георгии на стройном мундире...»
«Голоса с их игрой сулящей...»
«Даны мне были и голос любый...»
«Два солнца стынут - о Господи, пощади!..»
«День угасший...»
«Заповедей не блюла, не ходила к причастью...»
«И всe вы идете в сестры...»
«Как жгучая, отточенная лесть...»
«Какой-нибудь предок мой был - скрипач...»
«Легкомыслие! - Милый грех...»
«Лежат они, написанные наспех...»
«Лорд Байрон! - Вы меня забыли!..»
«Мне нравится, что Вы больны не мной...»
«Мне полюбить Вас не довелось...»
П. Э.
Подруга
«Полнолунье и мех медвежий...»
«С большою нежностью - потому...»
«Спят трещотки и псы соседовы...»
«Цветок к груди приколот...»
«Цыганская страсть разлуки!..»
«Что видят они? - Пальто...»
«Я знаю правду! Все прежние правды-прочь!..»
Стихи 1916 г.
Ахматовой
«Белое солнце и низкие, низкие тучи...»
«Бог согнулся от заботы...»
«Братья, один нам путь прямохожий...»
«В день Благовещенья...»
«В оны дни ты мне была, как мать...»
«Вдруг вошла...»
«Веселись, душа, пей и ешь!..»
«Всюду бегут дороги...»
«Гибель от женщины. Вот знак...»
«Говорила мне бабка лютая...»
«Голуби реют серебряные...»
«Да с этой львиною...»
Даниил
«Димитрий! Марина! В мире...»
Евреям
«Еще и еще песни...»
«За девками доглядывать, не скис...»
«И взглянул, как в первые раза...»
«И другу на руку легло...»
«И не плача зря...»
«И поплыл себе - Моисей в корзине!..»
«Искательница приключений...»
«К озеру вышла. Крут берег...»
«Кабы нас с тобой да судьба свела...»
«Каждый день все кажется мне: суббота!..»
«Канун Благовещенья...»
«Коли милым назову - не соскучишься!..»
«Люди на душу мою льстятся...»
«Много тобой пройдено...»
«На завитки ресниц...»
«На крыльцо выхожу - слушаю...»
«Не ветром ветреным - до - осени...»
«Не моя печаль, не моя забота...»
«Не сегодня - завтра растает снег...»
«Никто ничего не отнял!..»
«Откуда такая нежность?..»
«Отмыкала ларец железный...»
«По дорогам, от мороза звонким...»
«По ночам все комнаты черны...»
«Погоди, дружок!..»
«Посадила яблоньку...»
«Приключилась с ним странная хворь...»
«Продаю! Продаю! Продаю!..»
«Разлетелось в серебряные дребезги...»
«Рок приходит не с грохотом и громом...»
«Словно ветер над нивой, словно...»
«Собирая любимых в путь...»
«Соперница, а я к тебе приду...»
Стихи о Москве
«Счастие или грусть...»
«Так, от века здесь, на земле, до века...»
«То-то в зеркальце - чуть брезжит...»
«Ты запрокидываешь голову...»
«Ты, мерящий меня по дням...»
«Устилают - мои - сени...»
«Целую червонные листья и сонные рты...»
«Через снега, снега...»
«Четвертый год...»
«Чтоб дойти до уст и ложа...»
«Я бы хотела жить с Вами...»
«Я ли красному как жар киоту...»
«Я пришла к тебе черной полночью...»
«Я тебя отвоюю у всех земель, у всех небес...»
Стихи 1917 г.
Boheme
«А всe же спорить и петь устанет...»
«А пока твои глаза...»
«А царит над нашей стороной...»
«Август - астры...»
«Аймек-гуарузим - долина роз...»
Але
«Без Бога, без хлеба, без крова...»
«Бел, как мука, которую мелет...»
«Бороды - цвета кофейной гущи...»
«В лоб целовать - заботу стереть...»
«Ввечеру выходят семьи...»
«Во имя Отца и Сына и Святого Духа...»
Гаданье
«Голубые, как небо, воды...»
«Горечь! Горечь! Вечный привкус...»
«День идет...»
Дон-Жуан
«За Отрока - за Голубя - за Сына...»
«Запах, запах...»
«И в заточеньи зимних комнат...»
«И вот, навьючив на верблюжий горб...»
«И зажег, голубчик, спичку...»
«И Кто-то, упав на карту...»
«И сказал Господь...»
«Из Польши своей спесивой...»
«Из строгого, стройного храма...»
Иоанн
Иосиф
«Кавалер де Гриэ! - Напрасно...»
«Как рука с твоей рукой...»
Кармен
Князь Тьмы
Корнилов
Любви старинные туманы
«Милые спутники, делившие с нами ночлег!..»
«Мировое началось во мгле кочевье...»
«Мне ль, которой ничего не надо...»
«Мое последнее величье...»
«Молодую рощу шумную...»
«Над церковкой - голубые облака...»
«Нет! Еще любовный голод...»
«Новый год я встретила одна...»
«Ночь. - Норд-Ост. - Рев солдат. - Рев волн...»
«Ну вот и окончена метка...»
Петров конь роняет подкову
«Плохо сильным и богатым...»
«Поздний свет тебя тревожит?..»
«Расцветает сад, отцветает сад...»
Руан
«С головою на блещущем блюде...»
«Собрались, льстецы и щеголи...»
Стенька Разин
«Так и буду лежать, лежать...»
«Так, одним из легких вечеров...»
«Только в очи мы взглянули - без остатка...»
«Только закрою горячие веки...»
«Тот - щеголем наполовину мертвым...»
«У камина, у камина...»
«Уж и лед сошел, и сады в цвету...»
Царю - на Пасху
Цыганская свадьба
«Что же! Коли кинут жребий...»
«Чуть светает...»
Юнкерам, убитым в Нижнем
«Я помню первый день, младенческое зверство...»
Стихи 1918 г.
«Beau tenebreux! - Вам грустно. - Вы больны...»
«Co мной не надо говорить...»
«He по нраву я тебе - и тебе...»
«He смущаю, не пою...»
«А взойдешь - на краешке стола...»
«А всему предпочла...»
«А потом поили медом...»
Але
Але
Андрей Шенье
Барабанщик
«Безупречен и горд...»
«Белизна - угроза Черноте...»
«Белогвардейцы! Гордиев узел...»
«Белье на речке полощу...»
«Благодарю, о Господь...»
«Благословляю ежедневный труд...»
«Бог - прав...»
Братья
«Бури-вьюги, вихри - ветры вас взлелеяли...»
«Был мне подан с высоких небес...»
«В черном небе слова начертаны...»
«Ветер звонок, ветер нищ...»
«Где лебеди? - А лебеди ушли...»
Гению
«Героизму пристало стынуть...»
Глаза
«Два цветка ко мне на грудь...»
«Дело Царского Сына...»
«День - плащ широкошумный...»
«Доблесть и девственность! - Сей союз...»
Дон
«Дороги - хлебушек и мука!..»
«Дочери катят серсо...»
«Если душа родилась крылатой...»
«Есть колосья тучные, есть колосья тощие...»
«Закинув голову и опустив глаза...»
«Заклинаю тебя от злата...»
«Змея оправдана звездой...»
«Идет по луговинам лития...»
«Каждый стих - дитя любви...»
«Как много красавиц, а ты - один...»
«Как правая и левая рука...»
«Клонится, клонится лоб тяжелый...»
Колдунья
«Коли в землю солдаты всадили - штык...»
«Колыбель, овеянная красным!..»
«Красный бант в волосах!..»
«Кровных коней запрягайте в дровни!..»
«Кружка, хлеба краюшка...»
«Кто дома не строил...»
«Любовь! Любовь! Куда ушла ты?..»
«Марина! Спасибо за мир!..»
«Мать из хаты за водой...»
«Мир окончится потопом...»
«Мое убежище от диких орд...»
«Мой день беспутен и нелеп...»
«Молодой колоколенкой...»
«Московский герб: герой пронзает гада...»
«Мракобесие. - Смерч. - Содом...»
«На кортике своем: Марина...»
«На плече моем на правом...»
«На тебе, ласковый мой, лохмотья...»
«Наградил меня Господь...»
«Над черною пучиной водною...»
«Надобно смело признаться. Лира!..»
«Не самозванка - я пришла домой...»
«Нет, с тобой, дружочек чудный...»
«Новый Год. Ворох роз...»
«Ночи без любимого - и ночи...»
«Ночь - преступница и монашка...»
«О, самозванцев жалкие усилья!..»
«Орел и архангел! Господень гром!..»
«Осень. Деревья в аллее - как воины...»
«Осторожный троекратный стук...»
«Отнимите жемчуг - останутся слезы...»
«Офицер гуляет с саблей...»
Памяти Беранже
«Память о Вас - легким дымком...»
«Пахнет ладаном воздух. Дождь был и прошел...»
«Песня поется, как милый любится...»
Плащ
«Плоти - плоть, духу - дух...»
«Под рокот гражданских бурь...»
«Пожирающий огонь - мой конь!..»
«Полюбил богатый - бедную...»
«Поступь легкая моя...»
«Поступью сановнически - гордой...»
«Простите меня, мои горы!..»
«Проще и проще...»
«Пусть не помнят юные...»
«Радость - что сахар...»
«Развела тебе в стакане...»
«Руки, которые не нужны...»
«Рыцарь ангелоподобный...»
«С вербочкою светлошерстой...»
«Свинцовый полдень деревенский...»
«Семь мечей пронзали сердце...»
«Серафим - на орла! Вот бой!..»
«Сладко вдвоем - на одном коне...»
«Слезы, слезы - живая вода!..»
«Соловьиное горло - всему взамен!..»
«Стихи растут, как звезды и как розы...»
«Страстный стон, смертный стон...»
«Так, высоко запрокинув лоб...»
«Там, где мед - там и жало...»
«Трудно и чудно - верность до гроба!..»
«Ты дал нам мужества...»
«Ты мне чужой и не чужой...»
«Ты персияночка - луна, а месяц - турок...»
«Ты тогда дышал и бредил Кантом...»
«Уедешь в дальние края...»
«Умирая, не скажу: была...»
«Утро. Надо чистить чаши...»
«Ходит сон с своим серпом...»
«Хочешь знать мое богачество?..»
«Царь и Бог! Простите малым...»
«Что другим не нужно - несите мне...»
«Чтобы помнил не часочек, не годок...»
«Это просто, как кровь и пот...»
«Юношам - жарко...»
«Я - есмь. Ты - будешь. Между нами - бездна...»
«Я - страница твоему перу...»
«Я берег покидал туманный Альбиона...»
«Я Вас люблю всю жизнь и каждый день...»
«Я расскажу тебе - про великий обман...»
«Я сказала, а другой услышал...»
«Я счастлива жить образцово и просто...»
Стихи 1919 г.
«А была я когда-то цветами увенчана...»
«А плакала я уже бабьей...»
«А человек идет за плугом...»
Але
Але
Але
Бабушка
Бальмонту
«Бог! - Я живу! - Бог! - Значит ты не умер!..»
«В синем небе - розан пламенный...»
«В темных вагонах...»
«Высоко мое оконце!..»
«Два дерева хотят друг к другу...»
«Дорожкою простонародною...»
Комедьянт
«Консуэла! - Утешенье!..»
«Маска - музыка... А третье...»
«Между воскресеньем и субботой...»
«О души бессмертный дар!..»
«О нет, не узнает никто из вас...»
П. Антокольскому
Памяти А.А. Стаховича
«Поскорее бы с тобою разделаться...»
Посылка к маленькой Сигарере
«Поцеловала в голову...»
«Простите Любви - она нищая!..»
С. Э.
«Сам посуди: так топором рубила...»
Стихи к Сонечке
Тебе - через сто лет
«Ты думаешь: очередной обман!..»
«Уходящее лето, раздвинув лазоревый полог...»
«Чердачный дворец мой, дворцовый чердак!..»
«Я не хочу ни есть, ни пить, ни жить...»
Стихи 1920 г.
«...коль делать нечего!..»
Ex-ci-devant
«А следующий раз - глухонемая...»
Баллада о проходимке
«Бог, внемли рабе послушной!..»
«Буду выспрашивать воды широкого Дона...»
«Буду жалеть, умирая, цыганские песни...»
«Был Вечный Жид за то наказан...»
«В подвалах - красные окошки...»
«Ветер, ветер, выметающий...»
Взятие Крыма
Волк
«Все братья в жалости моей!..»
«Все сызнова: опять рукою робкой...»
Вячеславу Иванову
«Где слезиночки роняла...»
«Две руки, легко опущенные...»
«Дитя разгула и разлуки...»
«Доброй ночи чужестранцу в новой келье!..»
«Дом, в который не стучатся...»
«Другие - с очами и с личиком светлым...»
Евреям
«Есть в стане моем - офицерская прямость...»
«Есть подвиги. - По селам стих...»
«Заря пылала, догорая...»
«Звезда над люлькой - и звезда над гробом!..»
Земное имя
«Знаю, умру на заре! На которой из двух...»
«И вот исчез, в черную ночь исчез...»
«И если руку я даю...»
«Июнь. Июль. Часть соловьиной дрожи...»
«Короткие крылья волос я помню...»
«Люблю ли вас?..»
«Любовь! Любовь! И в судорогах, и в гробе...»
«Малиновый и бирюзовый...»
Н. Н. В.
«На царевича похож он...»
«Не называй меня никому...»
«Не хочу ни любви, ни почестей...»
«О, скромный мой кров! Нищий дым!..»
«Об ушедших - отошедших...»
«Одна половинка окна растворилась...»
«Она подкрадeтся неслышно...»
«От семи и до семи...»
Отрывок
«Ох, грибок ты мой, грибочек, белый груздь!..»
Памяти Г. Гейне
Песенки из пьесы «Ученик»
Петру
«Пожалей...»
«Править тройкой и гитарой...»
«Проста моя осанка...»
«Прощай! - Как плещет через край...»
Психея
«Руки заживо скрещены...»
«Руку на сердце положа...»
С. Э.
С. Э.
«Сколько у тебя дружочков?..»
«Смерть - это нет...»
Старинное благоговенье
«Та ж молодость, и те же дыры...»
«Так, левою рукой упершись в талью...»
«Тень достигла половины дома...»
«Ты разбойнику и вору...»
«У первой бабки - четыре сына...»
«Уравнены: как да и нет...»
«Целовалась с нищим, с вором, с горбачом...»
Четверостишия
Чужому
«Я вижу тебя черноокой, - разлука!..»
«Я знаю эту бархатную бренность...»
«Я страшно нищ, Вы так бедны...»
«Я эту книгу поручаю ветру...»
Стихи 1921 г.
«He в споре, а в мире...»
«He для льстивых этих риз, лживых ряс...»
«Oт гнева в ои, мечты во лбу...»
Ахматовой
«Без самовластия...»
Бессонница
Благая весть
«Благоухала целую ночь...»
«В сновидящий час мой бессонный, совиный...»
«Веками, веками...»
Вестнику
Вифлеем
Возвращение вождя
Георгий
«Гордость и робость - родные сестры...»
«Грудь женская! Души застывший вздох...»
«Два зарева! - нет, зеркала!..»
«Душа, не знающая меры...»
«Как настигаемый олень...»
«Как начнут меня колеса...»
«Как по тем донским боям...»
«Как разгораются - каким валежником!..»
Кн. С. М. Волконскому
«Косматая звезда...»
«Ломающимся голосом...»
Марина
Маяковскому
Молодость
Муза
«На што мне облака и степи...»
«Над синеморскою лоханью...»
«Нам вместе было тридцать шесть...»
«Необычайная она! Сверх сил!..»
«О первое солнце над первым лбом!..»
Отрок
Подруга
«Прямо в эфир...»
Разлука
Роландов Рог
«С такою силой в подбородок руку...»
«Семеро, семеро...»
«Соревнования короста...»
«Справа, справа - баран круторогий!..»
Стихи к Блоку
«Так говорю, ибо дарован взгляд...»
«Так плыли: голова и лира...»
Ученик
Хвала Афродите
Стихи 1922 г.
«He приземист - высокоросл...»
«А и простор у нас татарским стрелам!..»
«А любовь? Для подпаска...»
Балкон
«Без повороту и без возврату...»
Берлину
Бог
«Божественно и безоглядно...»
«В пустынной храмине...»
«В сиром воздухе загробном...»
«Верстами - врозь - разлетаются брови...»
«Вкрадчивостию волос...»
«Дабы ты меня не видел...»
«До убедительности, до...»
Дочь Иаира
«Думалось: будут легки...»
«Есть час на те слова...»
Заводские
«Завораживающая! Крест...»
«Здравствуй! Не стрела, не камень...»
Земные приметы
«Знакомец! Отколева в наши страны?..»
«Золото моих волос...»
«И скажешь ты...»
«Ищи себе доверчивых подруг...»
«Каменногрудый...»
«Когда же, Господин...»
«Леты подводный свет...»
«Леты слепотекущий всхлип...»
«Листья ли с древа рушатся...»
«Лютая юдоль...»
Москве
«На заре - наимедленнейшая кровь...»
«На пушок девичий, нежный...»
«Не похорошела за годы разлуки!..»
«Не ревновать и не клясть...»
«Некоторым - не закон...»
«Неподражаемо лжет жизнь...»
«Но тесна вдвоем...»
Новогодняя
Новогодняя
«Ночного гостя не застанешь...»
«Ночные шепота: шелка...»
«Переселенцами...»
Площадь
«По Безымянной...»
«По загарам - топор и плуг...»
«По нагориям...»
«По-небывалому...»
«Помни закон...»
Посмертный марш
Рассвет на рельсах
«Руки - И в круг...»
«Светло-серебряная цвель...»
«Слезы - на лисе моей облезлой!..»
«Сомкнутым строем...»
«Спаси Господи, дым!..»
Сугробы
«Так, заживо раздав...»
«Удостоверишься - повремени!..»
Ханский полон
Хвала богатым
«Это пеплы сокровищ...»
Стихи 1923 г.
Азраил
Ариадна
Ахилл на валу
Брат
«Брожу - не дом же плотничать...»
«Всe так же, так же в морскую синь...»
«Голубиная купель...»
Деревья
Диалог Гамлета с совестью
«Древняя тщета течет по жилам...»
Душа
Занавес
Заочность
«Как бы дым твоих ни горек...»
Клинок
Крик станций
«Крутогорьями глаголь...»
Ладонь
Луна - лунатику
«Люблю - но мука еще жива...»
Лютня
Магдалина
Минута
Мореплаватель
«На назначенное свиданье...»
Наклон
Наука Фомы
«Не надо ее окликать...»
«Нет, правды не оспаривай...»
Ночные места
Ночь
Ночь
Облака
Овраг
Окно
Око
«Оперением зим...»
«Оставленного зала тронного...»
Офелия - в защиту королевы
Офелия - Гамлету
Педаль
Письмо
Плач цыганки по графу Зубову
«По набережным, где седые деревья...»
Побег
Подруга
Поезд жизни
Последний моряк
Поэты
Прага
Пражский рыцарь
Провода
Прокрасться...
Раковина
«Рано еще - не быть!..»
Расщелина
Рельсы
Ручьи
«С этой горы, как с крыши...»
Сахара
Сестра
Сивилла
Скифские
Слова и смыслы
Сок лотоса
«Строительница струн - приструню...»
«Так вслушиваются...»
«Ты, меня любивший фальшью...»
Федра
Хвала времени
Час Души
Эвридика - Орфею
Эмигрант
Стихи 1924 г.
«Вьюга наметает в полы...»
Двое
«Емче органа и звонче бубна...»
«Живу - не трогаю...»
Жизни
Остров
«Пела как стрелы и как морены...»
«Пела рана в груди у князя...»
Под шалью
Полотерская
Попытка ревности
Приметы
Сон
«Так - только Елена глядит над кровлями...»
«Ятаган? Огонь?..»
Стихи 1925 г.
«В седину - висок...»
«Высокомерье - каста...»
«Дней сползающие слизни...»
«Жив, а не умер...»
Крестины
«Не колесо громовое...»
«От родимых сeл, сeл!..»
«Променявши на стремя...»
«Рас - стояние: версты, мили...»
«Русской ржи от меня поклон...»
«Слава падает так, как слива...»
«Существования котловиною...»
«Что, Муза моя! Жива ли еще?..»
Стихи 1926 г.
«Кто - мы? Потонул в медведях...»
«Тише, хвала!..»
Стихи 1928 г.
«Всю меня - с зеленью...»
«Лес: сплошная маслобойня...»
Наяда
Плач матери по новобранцу
Разговор с гением
«Чем - не боги же - поэты!..»
Стихи 1930 г.
Маяковскому
Стихи 1931 г.
Дом
Лучина
«Насмарку твой стих!..»
«Не нужен твой стих...»
Страна
«Тише, тише, тише, век мой громкий!..»
Стихи 1932 г.
Ici - haut
«Дом, с зеленою гущей...»
«Закрыв глаза - раз иначе нельзя...»
Родина
Стихи к сыну
«Темная сила!..»
Стихи 1933 г.
Ода пешему ходу
Стихи к Пушкину
Стол
Стихи 1934 г.
«А Бог с вами!..»
«Вскрыла жилы: неостановимо...»
«Есть счастливцы и счастливицы...»
Куст
«Не было друга...»
«О поэте не подумал...»
Отголоски Стола
«Рябину...»
Сад
«Стройте и пойте стройку!..»
«Тоска по родине! Давно...»
«Уединение: уйди...»
«Человека защищать не надо...»
Челюскинцы
«Это жизнь моя пропела - провыла...»
Стихи 1935 г.
Бузина
«Двух станов не боец, а - если гость случайный...»
Деревья
«Жизни с краю...»
Надгробие
«Небо - синей знамени!..»
«Никому не отмстила и не отмщу...»
«Никуда не уехали - ты да я...»
«Окно раскрыло створки...»
Отцам
«Ударило в виноградник...»
«Уж если кораллы на шее...»
«Черные стены...»
Читатели газет
Стихи 1936 г.
Автобус
«Когда я гляжу на летящие листья...»
Савойские отрывки
Стихи сироте
Стихи 1937 г.
«Были огромные очи...»
Стихи 1938 г.
«Жуть, что от всей моей Сонечки...»
«Опустивши забрало...»
«Ох, речи мои марочные...»
«Так, не дано мне ничего...»
Стихи 1939 г.
1918 г.
Douce France
«Вот: слышится - а слов не слышу...»
Стихи к Чехии. Март
Стихи к Чехии. Сентябрь
Стихи 1940 г.
«Всем покадили и потрафили...»
«Годы твои - гора...»
«Двух - жарче меха! Рук - жарче пуха!..»
«Когда-то сверстнику....»
«Многие мои! О, пьющие...»
«Не знаю. какая столица...»
«Пора! для этого огня...»
«Так ясно сиявшие...»
«Ушел - не ем...»
Стихи 1941 г.
«Всe повторяю первый стих...»
«Пора снимать янтарь...»

Марина Цветаева

The Best of Marina Tsvetayeva


Marina Tsvetaeva. 

The Best of Marina Tsvetayeva 

(translated by Ilya Shambat)




To Mother


     In the old Strauss waltz for the first time
     We had listened to your quiet call,
     Since then all the living things are alien
     And the knocking of the clock consoles.

     We, like you, are gladly greeting sunsets,
     And are drunk on nearness of the end.
     All, with which on better nights we're wealthy
     Is put in the hearts by your own hand.

     Bowing to a child's dreams with no tire.
     (Only crescent looked in them indeed
     Without you)! You have led your kids past
     Bitter lifetime of the thoughts and deeds.

     From the early age the sad one's close to us,
     Laughter bores and home we left behind..
     Our ship not in good times left the harbor
     And it sails by will of every wind!

     Azure isle of childhood is paling,
     On the deck of ship we stand alone.
     It appears, oh mother, to your daughters
     You've left an inheritance of woe.




x x x


     The street awakens. She looks, exhausted
     With the mute windows' sullen eyes,
     On sleepy faces, red from the cold,
     That with thoughts chase the stubborn sleep away.
     The blackened trees with rime are covered -
     With trace mysterious of the night's fun,
     In gleaming brocade sad ones are standing,
     Just like the dead the alive among.
     The gray coat mingles, trampled upon,
     The forage-cup with a wreathe, a bored look,
     And the red arms, pressed to the ears,
     And the black apron with the tied books.
     The street awakens. She looks, unpleasant
     With mute windows' sullen eyes, it would seem.
     To sleep, in a happy thought be forgotten,
     What life seems to us, this is a dream!




Little World


     Children - are staring of eyes so frightful,
     Mischievous legs on a wooden floor,
     Children - is sun in the gloomy motives,
     Hypotheses' of happy sciences world.

     Eternal disorder in the ring's gold,
     Tender word's whispers in semi-sleep,
     On the wall in a cozy child's room, the dreaming
     Peaceful pictures of birds and sheep.

     Children - is evening, evening on the couch,
     In the fog, through the window, glimmer street lamps,
     A measured voice of the tale of King Saltan,
     Mermaid-sisters of seas from tales.

     Children - is rest, brief moment of respite,
     A trembling vow before God's eyes,
     Children - are the world's tender riddles,
     Where in the riddle the answer hides!




Before a Little Coffin



     To Katherine Pavlovna Peshkova

     Mother has painted the coffin brightly.
     The tiny one sleeps in Sunday attire.
     Onto the forehead no longer is falling
     The light-brown hair;

     A round comb no longer is pressing,
     Having seen so little, of the child's head;
     Only of joy knew
     The heart of the kid.

     For five years so happily lived she
     Much played the deft arms!
     Fantasies, fantasies mid lilies,
     Nobody disturbed them.

     The flowers seek a place nearer to her,
     (She seems tight in her new bed).
     The flowers know: Little Katya
     A golden heart had.




Epitaph



     L.A.T.


     ON THE GROUND
     "Hid in the corner, you look so stubborn,
     We wait for long. Say, you agree?"
     "Ah, I don't know. Leave me, mother!
     Leave me. It's all the same to me!"

     IN THE GROUND
     "Is not the breath of a tired chest heavy?
     In tight grave it's always dark, you see?"
     "Ah, I don't know. Leave me, people!
     Leave me! It's all the same to me!"

     OVER THE GROUND
     "Did I love passionately with my heart, too?
     Evil - did it so anger thee?"
     "O my good God, I agree completely!
     I'm tired. It's all the same to me!"




Lady with Camelias


     Your whole way with shining evil's coal
     Margaret, they all do bravely judge.
     What's your fault? The body sinned as such,
     Innocent you have retained your soul.

     To all people it's the same, I know,
     To all nodded with a blurry smile.
     And with this sorrowful semi-smile
     You have wept yourself long time ago.

     Who will know? Whose hand will help along?
     No exception to the rule, one thing entrances!
     They eternally await embraces,
     They eternally await, "I'm thirsty! Be my own!"

     Day and night the bane of false confessions..
     Day and night, tomorrow, and once more!
     Spoke more eloquently than the word
     Your dark glance, the martyr's dark expression.

     The accursed ring is growing narrow,
     On the goddess of the world avenges fate..
     Smiling childishly, into your face
     A young tender boy glances with sorrow.

     The entire world is saved by love!
     In but her salvation and defense is.
     All's in love. O Margaret, sleep in peace.
     All's in love. I'm saved because I love.




Terminal Silhouette


     I know you not and in no way
     I want to lose starry illusions
     With such a face in worst confusion
     People are loyal to a ray.

     All that the fate has marked for grave
     Have such closed-off face instead.
     You are a page that was not read
     And no, you will not be a slave.

     A slave with such a face? Oh no!
     There is no error here by chance.
     Your slender figure and your glance
     Will be secret to many, I know.

     A heavy bracelet of your hair
     Under the thrown-over scarf
     (You'd do with guitar or a harp)
     And your pale face, as pale as air.

     I know you not. And possibly
     You're kind and moderate like all.
     Maybe! May these be ravings all!
     For only raving ones may be!

     Perhaps the day is not so far
     When I will fathom what's unseemly...
     But this to err - it is so relieving!
     It is so easy yet to err!

     Touching the scarf with a light hand,
     There where the whistles shrilly blow.
     This is the you that I will know
     Where you just like a riddle stand.




In Paris


     Homes reach the stars, the sky's below,
     The land in smoke to it is near.
     Inside the big and happy Paris
     Remains the secretive despair.

     The evening boulevards are noisy,
     Gone are the sundown's final rays,
     And there are couples everywhere
     Trembling of lips, daring of eyes.

     I'm here alone. To trunk of chestnut
     It is so nice one's head to lean!
     And like in the abandoned Moscow
     In heart weep verses of Rostand.

     Paris at night is sad and alien,
     Dear to the heart is madness gone!
     I'm going home, there's vial of sorrow
     And tender portrait of someone.

     There's someone's glance, sad and fraternal.
     There's tender profile on the wall.
     Rostand and the Reichstadtian martyr
     And Sara - in sleep come they all!

     Within the big and happy Paris
     I dream of grass, of clouds and rain
     And laughter far, and shadow near,
     And deep just like before is pain.




Prayer


     Christ and the Lord! I thirst for marvel
     Now, here, as the day would start!
     The life is like a book to me,
     So let me die. Let me depart.

     You're wise, and sternly "Now be patient,
     Your time's not ripe" you will not say.
     Yourself you gave me - too much now!
     I thirst at once - for every way!

     I want it all: with soul of gypsy
     To run to plunder with a song,
     To suffer for all near an organ,
     To run to war, an Amazon;

     To divine stars in a black tower
     The kids through shadows to lead...
     That yesterday would be a legend,
     That each and every day be mad!

     I love the cross, the silk, the helmet,
     The minute's trace of soul of mine..
     You gave me childhood - better than fiction
     Now let me die at seventeen!




To Asya


     Evening noise in the burning sunset
     On twilight of winter day.
     The third call. Hurry, remember me,
     You that are going away!
     Emerald wave is awaiting you,
     Splash of an oar of blue,
     To live our life underground, difficult,
     Was not possible to you.
     Well then, ahead, that our murky struggle
     Into our ranks never calls,
     If the transparent wetness appeals to you
     Flight of the silver seagulls!
     Give my regards to the hot, the brilliant,
     Burning sun,
     Your question pose to all strong and bright -
     Answer will come!
     Evening noise in the burning sunset
     On twilight of winter day.
     The third call. Hurry, remember me,
     You that are going away!




Books in Red Binding


     From heaven of a childhood life
     A farewell to me you're sending,
     The ever-loyal dear friends
     Within a red worn down binding.
     On learning homework from school,
     At once I ran to see you yet.
     "It's late" - "Please, Mother, ten more lines" -
     But happily she did forget.
     The fires flicker in a lamp..
     How nice it is to read at home!
     To sounds of Greeg, Schumann and Kui
     I learned about the fate of Tom.
     It's dark.. the air is growing cold..
     Tom's full of faith in Becky's joy.
     Within the darkness of the cave
     Wanders with torch Indian Joe..
     A cemetery.. owl is screaming..
     (I'm scared) And now through hassocks flies
     The punctilious widow's foster-child,
     Like in a barrel Diogenes.
     Lighter than Sun is the throne hall,
     Over the graceful boy - a crown..
     At once - a beggar! God! He said:
     "Forgive, I'm heir to the throne."
     To darkness comes, who comes from her.
     Sad is the destiny of Britain..
     O, wherefore not amid red books
     Not to go back to sleep again
     Before a lamp? O golden times
     Where sight is braver, heart is purer:
     O golden times, I say again:
     Huck Finn, Tom Sawyer, Prince and Beggar!




New Moon


     Over meadow stands new moon,
     Over boundary of dew.
     Come, we'll make a friend of you,
     Dear, distant, alien.

     In the day I hide, am quiet.
     Moon above - I have no might!
     I rush on this lunar night
     To the shoulder of beloved.

     I'll never ask me, "Who's he?"
     All to know, your lips will say!
     Hugs are rude but in the day,
     In the day the fit is funny.

     In the day, torn by a demon proud,
     With a smile on lips I lie.
     Night, though.. Darling, far away..
     Crescent stands above the wood!




On Parting



     Mein Herz tragt schwere Ketten.
     Die Du mir angelegt.
     Ich mocht mein Leben wetten
     Dass Keine schwerer tragt

     Frankfurt song

     Teasing and tempting and playing
     We loved like children, us both
     But somebody, hiding a smile,
     Set up the ungentle nets -
     And here we are at the harbor,
     Not seeing the wished-for abodes,
     But knowing that I will be yours
     In the heart, without words, until death.

     You told me of all things - so early!
     I guessed them so late! In our hearts
     A wound is eternal, a silent
     Question exists in our eyes,
     The desert on earth is so endless,
     The heaven, so high, has no stars,
     Revealed is the tender secret,
     And frost rules for centuries.

     I will talk to shades! O my dear,
     To forget you I do not have might,
     Your visage can't move under shadow
     Of eyelids gone over my eyes...
     It's darkening... Shutters have closed,
     On all things descending is night...
     I love you, one ghostly-eternal,
     And only you - and always!




To the Next One


     Tender caresses of kind little sisters
     Are ready for you.
     With the birds' songs, O the charmed prince,
     We're waiting for you.
     Branch drunk with sun, you grew, visage of heaven
     Before my eyes.
     Like a girl tender, like a child quiet,
     All - surprise.
     They'll often say: "These sisters are treacherous
     In each reply!"
     Cocky with daring ones, kids with a boy, timid
     With someone shy.
     We love, like you, melting clouds and birches
     And melted snow.
     We love the tales about grandmother's daughters,
     Little and slow!
     Pitiful is the wind, spring remembering,
     Gems in the skies..
     We wait for you, one that knows nothing of life,
     And has blue eyes!




Meeting


     Evening dimmed, like ourselves charmed
     With this first warmth of the spring.
     Stirring alive, Arbat was alarmed;
     With sympathetic tenderness, the kind
     Gale touched us with a tired wing.
     In our souls, raised on a fairy tale,
     Sorrow quietly cried for past things.

     He came - so unexpected! So hurriedly -
     He who helped in all things before.
     And far off in a line unconsolably
     The streetlamps' radiant dots
     Burned though light darkness some more...
     All around flowers we bought;
     We bought a bouquet.. What for?

     Quietly withered away unseen garden
     In the sky violet-red.
     How to be saved from late trouble?
     All returned. For a moment? For long?
     We speechlessly looked at sun going to bed,
     And Gogol nodded, thoughtful, from
     The pedestral like a brother, sad.




Angelique


     Near is the meek image of the dark chapel
     Where the organ does weep!
     Alien to me is earthly joy.
     I'm Angelique.

     Quiet singing in unison sounds,
     Unclear are the windows, it seems,
     Elegant vaults have taken control
     Of my life like dreams.

     My sight in childhood slipped away there,
     It's tormented by the towns.
     Talk and the shining hall bore me indeed
     And the world wears me down.

     Someone lit candles before the Virgin.
     (Does the sick healing await?)
     This is the reason I'm silent midst you:
     I'm different all the way.

     Sweet is the weakness of arms relaxed,
     Light to me here is all woe.
     Dark-leafed ivy, as if they were friends
     Embraced the stones;

     Grass has blossomed here all the way
     Like almond, white and pink...
     I need no joy. I don't pity the world:
     I'm Angelique.




From Four till Seven


     Like in a mirror, there's shade in the heart
     I'm bored alone - and with men...
     Slowly drags the light of the day
     From four till seven!
     Everybody is cruel in the dusk,
     Don't go to people - they'll lie.
     Fingers have wound into a knot
     The kerchief. I want to cry.
     Only don't torture me so,
     If you hurt me I'll forgive!
     From four till seven o'clock
     I endlessly grieve.




Easter in April


     Eggs on a plate warmed the soul with delight
     And ringing of bells.
     What is more radiant than Easter in April,
     People, pray tell?
     Rays are caressing the grass, from the street
     Phrases and words...
     Quietly I wander from porch to the barn,
     Measuring boards.
     Waves of Easter ringing, external dawn,
     Like glow in the sky,
     Sound of a gramophone of our neighbors
     Bitterly cries,
     From kitchen follows it endlessly woeful
     Harmonica's sound,
     Much has gone on, oh yes much has gone on..
     The past, fall down!
     No, I don't get help from eggs on the dish!
     It's late... Gone are the rays..
     What is more hopeless than Easter in April,
     People, please say?




Contact through Dreams


     All's for a moment, that people create,
     Glimmer of new things dims,
     But yet unaltered, like sorrow, remains
     Contact through dreams.

     Calming.. If but to forget.. but to sleep..
     Sweetness of eyelids over eyes..
     Dreams open fates of the future, and bind
     For centuries.

     All that I stealthily thought, is to me
     Clear like a crystal clean.
     Us, with a timeless and endless riddle,
     United the dream.

     I do not pray, "O God, make to vanish
     Torment of coming day!"
     Oh no, "Oh God, send to him about me
     A dream," I pray.

     May I get pale at the meeting with you -
     Sorrowful is it to meet!
     Secret is one: The contact through dreams. We are
     Powerless before it.




x x x


     Azure are the fields, where our dreaming had met.
     Don't rush my memory!
     Be truthful: Anew you'll touch the silver cup
     Not soon with a one such as me.

     All's destroyed, not by our volition. And sweet
     Is the sigh over lost heaven! May be! -
     You're all - May's! For you is my sorrow of May.
     All that's dreamed of in May is for thee.

     Here we don't need to rendezvous. Truly, we'll meet
     Where the truth with the truth I shall meet;
     Every evening on bridges shaky and light
     We come out one another to greet.

     A familiar figure I'll see from afar -
     Heart beats rarely, then frequently, though...
     Like before you're not wrathful, not vengeful, oh no!
     And your eyes are the same, full of woe.

     These are dreams. To us both the night is still dear,
     Bravely breaking all barriers so.
     But the image of her that could not lie, my friend,
     Once awakened, don't chase like a foe.

     And when he will appear in the evening shade
     Under call of a previous song,
     Nod to happiness that has elapsed with a smile
     And recall without rage the one gone.




Hello from a Train


     Louder is noise, as if taller than buildings,
     Train is shivering for the final time,
     Final time... we're riding... now my winter
     Dream, say goodbye!

     My winter dream, good to the point of tears,
     From you fortune is bearing me away.
     Judged in this way! I need no dream nor burden
     Along the way.

     Under train's noise to swim to far-off days,
     Still foggy, to trust marvels is so sweet.
     World is so wide! Maybe within it you
     I will forget?

     The train's darkness presses on the shoulders,
     Into window pours a torrent of the fog...
     My distant friend, please fathom - self-deception
     Is all this talk!

     Why the new land? The glimmer of same stars,
     Same laughter, war with boredom, everywhere,
     And your sweet gesture will be as a torment
     Here, like there.




x x x


     It is true, is it not, that our souls are not used yet to parting?
     With a shimmer of glimmering wings they each other call!
     Someone higher parted the arms, tenderly interwoven,
     But forgot the remembering souls.

     Every evening, lit up by the will of a sorceress gentle.
     Every evening, when over the hills, in the heart, stands the fog,
     To the soul not forgetting the former deception comes near
     With a meek and not confident walk.

     Like the wind, that with sharp gusts awakens the things of times prior,
     From the glimmering lines your are smiling at me once again.
     All is permitted, all! You from dream, I in dream. Will not judge us
     The angst of the day.

     Someone higher betrayed us to nameless delicious torment,
     (Many wanderings blunderings through dark and snow there will be!)
     Someone higher parted the arms, tenderly intevowen...
     Not responsible for this are we!




Except for Love


     Did not love, did not weep. Oh no, did not love, but regardless
     I have showed in the shadows the beloved likeness to you.
     In our sleep all things did not appear like love:
     No cause, no clues.

     From the evening hall only to us nodded this image,
     Only we - you and me - to it pitiful verses bore.
     What has bound us stronger than love has bound others
     Is that we adore.

     But the gust was escaped, and tenderly somebody approached,
     He who could not have prayed, but did love. To judge do not hurry!
     Like the most tender note in awakening of the soul
     You're memorable to me.

     In this sorrowful soul you had wandered, like in open house..
     (In our house, in the spring)... Forgotten don't call me!
     All my minutes are filled with you, except for love -
     The most melancholy.




In the Winter


     Behind the walls once again
     Bells' whining is heard.
     Several streets between us,
     And several words!
     The city in darkness sleeps,
     Silver sickle appears,
     The falling snow scatters
     Your collar with stars.
     Do your wounds ail for a long time?
     Do the calls wound of the past?
     Teases the new, seductive,
     And shining glance.

     (Blue or brown?) It matters more than
     Wise pages to the heart!
     Rime turns to white the
     Eyelashes' darts...
     Behind the walls, bell's whining
     Lacks strength, is barely heard.
     Several streets between us,
     And several words!
     Clear crescent is leaning into
     Books' and poets' souls,
     Into your downy collar
     In sheets is pouring snow.




Truth


     The exhausted world sighs of confusion,
     The pink even streams oblivion...
     We were parted by shadows, not people,
     Oh my dearest boy, heart of mine!


     -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --
     Walls are towering, in a fog dressing,
     Spear was dropped without strength by the sun..
     In the evening world I'm cold. Where are you,
     Oh my dearest boy, heart of mine?


     -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --
     You will not hear. The walls are encroaching,
     All things blend into one, all dies down...
     Nothing did, does, will substitute for you,
     Oh my dearest boy, heart of mine!




Another Prayer


     Once again I am bending my knees before you,
     Having noticed your garland of stars far apace.
     Let me know, dear Christ, that not all things are ghosts,
     Allow me, at last, not a ghost to embrace!

     I am tormented by these long days. With no worry,
     With no aim, in half-darkness, I am so lost..
     I can love ghosts, but can one survive on this planet
     For eighteen years solely on ghosts?

     And they sing, and they write, joy is in the beginning!
     Blossom with your full jubilant soul!
     Isn't it true, there's no happiness without sorrow?
     I don't have any friends save the dead, none at all.

     Those enflamed with another belief for all time, is it so,
     From the world in empty desert had hid?
     No, I don't need the smiles gained at the cost
     Of profaning the highest shrines of my creed.

     I don't need bliss that comes at the price of debasement.
     I don't need love! I'm sorrowful - not for her.
     In the quiet kingdom of beloved ghosts, only ghosts -
     Give me my soul to give back, Savior!




To a Growing-Up One


     Outside the window once again
     A fir is lit by snow..
     This cradle of yours, my dear friend,
     Why did you outgrow?

     The snowflakes fly, to all adhere,
     And melt too fast to know..
     What therefore for, you stupid one,
     Did you it outgrow?

     Days' weight upon it didn't press
     T'was easy sleeping there,
     And now your eyes have darker grown
     And gold of your hair..

     It burned your sight, but will it give
     Happiness, this wide world?
     Why, why did you outgrow
     Your cradle, my dear girl?




Girl Death


     With a milky and even wave
     The moon washed the cold parquet.
     I sweetly was sleeping under the moon,
     To a hot cheek pressing a bouquet.

     With light and with sleep doubly disturbed,
     I opened the eyes sleepy,
     And like a pink angel without wings
     The Girl Death leaned to me.

     Medallion trembles around the thin neck,
     A blush on her cheeks pours,
     It's visible, that she ran: dusted
     A bit are her bluish shoes.

     There's fanciful pattern of golden edge,
     A turquoise thread in the curls.
     "We'll play on the road, together us two:
     You - little boy, me - a girl

     Put on (you're the knight) my scarf of lace!"
     I silently gave the bouquet...
     And with a milky and even cold wave
     The moon washed the parquet.




Boy-Madness


     I have brought you a bouquet,
     Scarlet-red roses, poppies.
     I'm not same in anything,
     I'm the happy boy-madness.

     I'll blow out a yellow candle -
     It will be a flashlight pink.
     And a golden diadem
     I will wear like a king.

     I'm a conqueror sleepy
     Kingdoms, a mage. Is't full, King?
     I'm a doctor that is healing
     Without pills or medicines.

     Why the medicines? Why pills too?
     We will dance together, kid!
     Now flies mounted on a chair
     A completely empty bed.

     Where he's from - it is my secret:
     Serpent, red, will weave and hiss.
     I am laughing, all are laughing.
     I'm the happy boy-madness.




On a New Year


     Let's meet the stranger with a lamp,
     With a quiet, loyal flame.
     Only no hidden whisper,
     No whisper about him!

     We do not need the bright light now,
     Dim the lamp till it's barely lit.
     Only no sight of the better,
     No sight of it!

     May in a careless worry
     Year like a day only seem!
     Only no thought of eternal,
     No thought about him!

     We will again become "sisters",
     Nearer to each other sit.
     Only no words of the past,
     No words about it!




Schoolgirl


     today all night long could not sleep
     From the magickal month-of-May noise!
     Quietly pulled on the pantyhose
     And to the window slipped.

     I'm a rebel with whirlwind in the blood,
     Only passion and cold matter to me.
     I have read Bourge too: One can't be
     Happy when one is unloved.

     "He"'s rejected since he was twelve,
     Plays but Greeg and but Liszt - and come look:
     He is smart and well-read, like a book,
     And a poet as well!

     For but one of his looks of fire
     I am ready to fall on my knees!
     But my parents our happiness
     Do not desire.




Tverskaya


     Here's the world, where glass-cases are shining,
     Here's Tverskaya - we miss it eternally.
     Whom does Asya need more than Marina?
     Whom does dear Asya need more than me?

     In a lively row walking, drinking
     Sunset, voices, lights, - all that's there,
     And at times lowering our eyelids
     Under someone's assiduous stare.

     Moscow April night is only ours,
     Only ours, the flames shining like darts -
     Street to grown ups, to us - Tverskaya
     Is a cradle of semi-grown hearts.

     This, a cradle of golden sunrise,
     The world marvels at what's in morn given..
     Here's a window with Tate's diamonds,
     With lights here's a window again..

     We will know all by faith or by sense,
     Starry distance and width of the sky!
     Pink stands Strastnoi monastery
     Over grey plaza towering high.

     Without moment of silence we're walking.
     All dear words, all dear traits - in all truth!
     Unforgettable April - Tverskaya
     You're the cradle of our youth!




At Age Fifteen


     Ring, sing, oblivion preventing,
     The words "fifteen years old" in my soul.
     Why, did I grow up and become big?
     Nothing consoles.

     Just yesterday, into green grove of birches
     Free, in the morning I ran away.
     Just yesterday I frolicked without hairdo,
     Just yesterday!

     Spring ringing of the far-away belltowers
     Told me: "Run and sit and lie!"
     And every step frolicking was allowed,
     And every cry!

     What is ahead? What failure lies before me?
     In all deceit, all is forbidden.
     Thus, crying, with dear childhood I parted
     At age fifeen.




Drum


     To rock a cradle this morning in May?
     Proud neck in lasso, like some?
     Distaff to jailbird, to herder - a shawn,
     To me - a drum.

     Role of a woman's not dear to me:
     I fear not wounds, but boredom.
     Gives to me everything - honor and might -
     This my drum.

     So many countries I have not seen!
     Trees are in bloom, stands the sun..
     Kill all the sorrow around you in flight,
     Beat, my drum!

     Beat, now you drummer! Ahead of all!
     All else - deceit for the dumb!
     Why does it conquer the heart on the way.
     How is the drum?




Autumn in Tarus


     Clear morning is not hot, lightly
     You run through the meadow.
     Down the Oka pulls a barge,
     Very slow.

     Several words without willing
     You are repeating still.
     Somewhere in the field is ringing
     Weakly the bell.

     Ring in the field? On the meadow?
     Are they going to the prayer?
     Eyes into somebody's fortune
     For a moment stare.

     Distance is blue between pine trees,
     On threshing-floor voices ring..
     And smiles the autumn
     To our spring.

     Life has flung open, but still..
     Ah, days of gold!
     Lord, how are they distant!
     How are they distant, God!




To Literary Prosecutors


     To melt all, that the people forget all,
     Like a candle or molten snow?
     Be a handful of dust in the future
     Under cross of a grave? I say no!

     Every moment, from anguish concussing,
     I return to the same once again:
     Die forever! Did for this the fortune
     Give me all things to understand?

     Evening in the child's room, where with muppets
     I'll be sitting, cobweb on the meadow,
     The accursed soul by the vision..
     To live for everyone, all to know!

     For this (there is strength in the expressed one)
     I give to court what's dear to me,
     That these my restless young years
     Youth would keep eternally.




x x x


     You walk, looking just like me,
     Lowering your eyes.
     I lowered them - also!
     Stop, the passerby!

     Read - having gathered a bouquet
     Of hens' blindness and poppies -
     That they called me Marina
     And how old I was.

     Don't think I'll appear with menace,
     That a grave here is hidden..
     I loved to laugh too much
     When it was forbidden.

     And blood to the skin was rushing,
     And my curls did twist..
     I once was too, passerby!
     Passerby, cease and desist!

     Tear off for yourself a wild stem
     And after him a berry:
     There are no strawberries sweeter
     Or bigger than at cemetery.

     But only don't grimly stand there,
     On the chest lowering your head.
     Lightly do think about me
     And lightly about me forget.

     How the ray alights you!
     You're all in a golden dust..
     And at my voice from below
     Do not you be nonplussed.




x x x


     These my poems, written so early
     That I did not know then I was a poet,
     Which having tore, like droplets from a fountain,
     Like sparks from a rocket,

     Into a sanctuary, where there is sleep and incense
     Like little devils having burst,
     These my poems about youth and about death,
     This unread verse!

     Scattered through shops in piles of dust
     Where nobody picked them up or does,
     These my poems, like precious wine,
     Will have their time.




x x x


     Passing me by, as you walk
     To charms doubtful and not mine -
     If you but knew how much fire,
     How much life is wasted in vain,

     On the rustling, occasional shade
     What a heroic flame -
     And how enflamed my heart
     This gunpowder wasted in vain!

     O the trains flying into the night,
     Carrying sleep on the station away..
     If you recognized - if you but knew -
     Then and there, I know, anyway.

     Why are my words so sharp
     In the smoke of my cigarette -
     How much dark and menacing angst
     Is there in my light-haired head.




x x x


     My voice is dumb and all the words,
     In vain. So now, go!
     I won't be in the right before
     Anyone, I know.

     Beautiful coward, in this battle
     It's not for me to fall!
     But, dear youth, I do not fight
     For power in this world.

     And this the noble-minded verse
     Never yourself denies.
     You can - because of someone else -
     Not see my very eyes,

     Not to grow blind upon my flame,
     Nor feel the strength in me..
     What demon in me you let loose
     Into eternity!

     But know that there will be a court,
     Like arrow taking aim,
     When two angelic fiery wings
     Over the head will gleam.




To Asya



     1
     We're sharp and we are ready,
     We're faster.
     In each word, in each glance, in each gesture -
     Two sisters.

     Unique and refined our taste is
     And our words,
     We from the old Damascus
     Are two swords.

     Out, threshing-floor and bread's burden
     And the ox!
     We - are stretched out in heaven
     Two arrows!

     On the world's market without sin
     We're alone.
     We - from William Shakespeare
     Are two poems.


     2
     We - are the dressing of poplars
     In the spring,
     We - are the last hope
     Of the kings.

     We're on the bottom of ancient cup.
     Come see now:
     In it is your dawn, and ours
     Two dawns too.

     And touching lips to the cup
     Drink to bottom.
     You will see our names
     On the bottom.

     Light glance is brave and shining
     Evil too.
     Who on earth ever met it
     Among you?

     Guarding the cradle, the mausoleum
     And other things,
     We are the final visage
     Of the kings.




To Sergei Efron-Durnovo



     1
     Such voices can be,
     That you're silent, don't repeat them,
     So that wonders you foresee.
     There are also giant eyes
     The color of the sea

     Now he stands in front of you:
     Look at forehead and at blood
     And compare him with you!
     The decrepit blood,
     Tiredness turned blue.

     Of each noble vein
     Blueness triumphs.
     Gesture of the prince and lion
     With a white foam lace
     Repeats again.

     Your regiment's - dragoon,
     Decembrists and Versaillians!
     You don't know - he's so young -
     Fingers ask for brushes,
     Spars and strings.


     2
     Like seaweed, like branches of willows
     Of Malmazonia are your limbs,
     Thus you did lie in sprays of sea foam
     Transfixing absent-mindedly

     Upon the sweet light-golden melons
     Of diamond and aquamarine
     The eyes forever semi-open
     So blue-and-grayish, bluish-green.

     The waves are just like rabid lions,
     The arrows of the sun did fly.
     And from intolerable blueness
     Too whitish, you did there lie.

     Behind the back, the desert, somewhere
     The station Djankoi had to be,
     And underneath your arm stretched out
     Melon grew golden quietly.

     Thus, calm and precious, you lie there,
     Don't give a glance and do not see,
     But look - and waves will heave with power,
     And mountains will be moved to sea.

     And new moons will in sky be burning,
     And joyful lions will lie down
     Under the single downward leaning
     Of your head beautiful and young.




To Byron


     I think about the morning of your glory,
     About the morning of your days too, when
     Like a demon you from sleep had stirred
     And were a god for men.

     I think of when your eyebrows came together
     Over the burning torches of your eyes,
     Of how the ancient blood's eternal lava
     Rushed through your arteries.

     I think of fingers - very long - inside
     The wavy hair, about all
     Eyes that did thirst for you in alleys
     And in the dining-halls.

     About the hearts too, which - you were too young then -
     You did not have the time to read, too soon,
     About the times, when solely in your honor
     Arose and down went the moon.

     I think about a hall in semi-darkness,
     About the velvet, into lace inclined,
     About the poems we would have told each other,
     You - yours, I - mine.

     I also think about the remaining
     From your lips and your eyes handful of dust..
     About all eyes, that are now in the graveyard
     About them and us.




x x x


     How many people fell in this abyss,
     I fathom from afar!
     There will be time, and I will vanish too
     From earth's exterior.

     All will be still, that sang and that did struggle,
     That glistened and rejoiced:
     The greenness of my eyes, the gold of my hair,
     And this my tender voice.

     Life will continue with its soft hot bread,
     With day's oblivion.
     All will continue - under outstretched heavens
     As if I'd never been!

     Like children changeable in every mien
     And angry not for long,
     Who loved the times when in the fireplace
     Into ash turned the log,

     Violin and cavalcade within the forest
     And in the village, bell...
     Upon this dear earth - I will be no longer
     That was alive and real!

     To all - who are the friends and strangers
     To never having known the measure, me?
     I turn to you with this my faith's demand
     And love's query.

     Both day and night, in word and letter both:
     For truth of yes and no,
     For that though I am but twenty I am
     So often in such sorrow,

     For unavoidably my slights and trespasses
     Will be forgiven me -
     For all of my impetuous tenderness
     And look too proud and free -

     For quickness of events as they come rushing,
     For truth, for play, say I -
     Please hear me! But do also please love me
     For this that I will die.




x x x


     Thus to thirst life: And to be tender
     And rabid and noisy,
     To be intelligent and charming -
     Gorgeous to be!

     More tender than what are or have been,
     Guilt not to know...
     This, that in graveyard all are equal,
     Angers me so.

     To be what nobody holds dear -
     Like ice become!
     Not knowing what has come before now
     Nor what will come,

     To forget how the heart broke and
     Grew back together,
     To forget both the words and voice
     And shine of hair.

     Bracelet of ancient turquoise
     On the stem, on
     This my white arm
     Narrow and long...

     Like painting over a cloud
     From afar,
     One took the mother-of-pearl pen
     In one's arm,

     Just like the legs jumped
     Over the fence,
     To forget, how along the road
     Shade advanced.

     To forget, like flame of azure, how
     Days are subdued...
     All my mischief, all my tempest,
     And poems too!

     Laughter will be chased away by
     My miracle.
     I, always-pink, will be
     The most pale.

     And they won't open - thus is needed -
     Pity this one!
     Not for the sight, not for the fields,
     Not for the sun -

     These my lowered eyelids. -
     Flower not for! -
     My earth, forgive for centuries
     Forevermore.

     Thus both the moon and the snow
     Will melt away,
     When this young, beautiful century
     Will rush on by.




x x x


     You, whose sleep is without awakening,
     Who does still quietly move,
     Go to the Three-Pond alley
     If you my poems love.

     O, how sunny and how starry
     It's to start the life's first tome
     I pray - while it is not too late yet -
     Come and take a look at our home!

     Soon that world will be snuffed out,
     In a secret of the night look at it,
     While the poplar is not cut down
     And our home is not sold yet.

     This our poplar! Our childhood's evenings
     Underneath it nestle and thrash.
     This our poplar among acacias
     Is the color of silver and ash.

     Hurry on, you will find this world
     Unforgettably wonderful!
     Go to the Three-Pond Alley
     To this soul of my soul.




To Alla



     1
     You will be innocent, gorgeous,
     Refined - and to all alien.
     A striving, aspiring mistress,
     An enticing Amazon.

     Your braids of hair, most likely,
     To wear like a helmet you'll choose,
     You will be the queen of the ballroom -
     Of all the poems of our youth.

     And your vicious blade of humor
     Will pierce through many, queen,
     And you will have at your feet
     All of which I can but dream.

     All will be obedient to you,
     And all before you will be quiet.
     Like me, you will indisputably
     And better poems write.

     But will you press tight and deadly
     Those temples of yours - who knows -
     Just like your young mother
     Is pressing her temples now.


     2
     Yes, I am jealous of you
     With such a jealousy!
     Yes, I also disturb you
     With my angst already.

     And this my miserable nature
     In you is most awfully clear:
     In your without two months two years -
     You're in despair.

     All dolls in whole wide world, all horses
     You'll give without a second thought
     For one page from my notebook
     And pencil I bought.

     You're in a fight with maids - you want
     All things by yourself done.
     Then suddenly you're in despair:
     "The sea's gone home."

     However proudly I speak of you,
     I can't transmit you all about
     When you are asking me, "Mother,
     Please kiss my snout."

     You know, all in me is laughing
     When somebody once again
     Attempts to kiss you
     In vain.

     I am the snake that took the princess,
     A dragon! Groom of grooms! O light
     Of my eyes - O the jealousy
     Of my night!




From Cycle "P.E."



     1
     Clad in the golden dust of evening
     An August day did quietly melt.
     The ringing streetcars rushed onwards
     And people went.

     I went along a quiet side street
     Without aim, absent-mindedly.
     And I remember how the church bells
     Sang quietly.

     I decided all things on the way
     Imagining your pose:
     Am I, or am I not, to bring
     To you a rose?

     And I was readying a phrase,
     Forgotten afterward, Alas -
     And suddenly - no wait! - at once!
     That self-same house.

     With many stories, looking bored...
     I count the windows, here's the porch.
     Unwittingly, cross on the neck
     The hands do search.

     I count the gray steps, that are leading
     Me to the flame.
     I ring the bell. Here for thinking.
     There is no time.

     I but remember roar of thunder
     And my two hands, as cold as ice.
     I call for you. - He is at home,
     He'll come at once.


     -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --
     May with my youth the years bear out
     What's unforgotten, one and all.
     The paint upon the colored wallpaper
     I will recall.

     And glass-beads of the lampshade, and
     The sound of some strange voices and
     Port Arthur and the dull clock beating
     Overhead.

     The moment, long, in the least measure -
     Like hour. But steps from afar.
     And you have entered. Here's the squeaking
     Of open door.


     -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --
     And there at once was fascination.
     He leaned down, simple like a king.
     And two stars in awe and terror
     Were glimmering.

     And squinting them, so huge, you did not
     Know of the tender face so dear,
     Still one more moment - what a tempest
     Played here.

     I struggled like a hero. Even
     You and I once together dined!
     A muted voice I do remember
     And lips' outline.

     And hair, fluffier than down,
     And - the most dear! -
     The gorgeous wrinkles of laughter
     Your long eyes near.

     And I recall - you sat right there,
     I, here - but you do forget.
     What effort all this cost to me,
     What minutes yet -

     To sit, giving off reams of smoke,
     And to observe silence complete ...
     It was intolerable to me
     Like this to sit.

     You do recall this conversation
     Of weather and of letter "e."
     Behold, you know, for such a strange dinner
     There cannot be.

     In a half-turn, in a half-darkness
     I laugh, not waiting for myself:
     "Eyes of a thoroughbred dog,
     Count, Farewell."


     -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --
     Lost and without aim completely
     I walked an alley dark as well
     And, seemingly, there was no singing
     Of the bell.


     2
     When he did live everyone loved him
     Eternal loyalty did vow,
     Carry the wreaths out of the lilies
     Onto fresh snow.

     Over his miserable lodgings
     For a brief minute go slow
     That he would not for too long shiver
     On this first snow.

     Warm, melt the icy blood inside him
     With breath of body and of soul!
     But if at once the love inside is
     Already cold -

     To lover - love the brother even,
     The child on forehead wears a wreath -
     He can hug no one in the coffin
     After his death.

     Ah, he, whom you so loved, for whose sake
     You would have gone into hell's vault -
     That he is now in a coffin
     Is not his fault!

     From rustling of steps and of dress
     Trembling from head down to your feet -
     How he'd discover your embraces,
     Whene'er could he!

     O women! For each one among you
     He became ash and madness all!
     With what thirst, fully, did he love you,
     You must recall!

     Recall, how you caught
     From his eyes each look,
     Recall the former vows you've spoken
     In the night's dark.

     Thus you will not become disloyal
     Before his cross so nondescript,
     And each should quietly remember
     His lip.

     And before rushing onwards
     In sled with gypsy bell, go slow,
     And with your faces fall down
     Into night snow.

     Let it your cheeks tenderly sprinkle,
     And melt in droplets near your eyes..
     I am among you one as I am
     Writing these lines -

     I won't break vows I have not taken -
     Life - your brown eyes -
     And for the soul of Love herself,
     O women, pray!


     3
     The leaves are scattered above your tombstone
     And winter's smell.
     Listen, the dead one, listen, O dear one:
     You're my own still.

     You laugh! - Moon is high - in the roadside cabin
     Full of charm.
     My - so undoubted and unchanging -
     Like this arm.

     To hospital doors with a knot in the morning
     I'll come again.
     You simply have gone to the great wide seas,
     To sunny land.

     I kissed you! I charmed you! I laugh at this darkness
     Beyond the tomb!
     I disbelieve death! I wait at the terminal -
     Come home.

     May leaves all be scattered, erased and washed out
     On mourning ribbon the words.
     And, I am also dead, if you're dead
     For the whole world.

     I see and I feel - I sense you everywhere -
     What's ribbon from wreaths of yours -
     I did not forget you and will not forget you
     Forevermore.

     I know the aimlessness of such a promise
     Its pointlessness too.
     Letter to endlessness - letter to limitlessness -
     Letter into the blue.


     4
     Here's your roses - pull your hands toward them -
     Having gone farther than the sea, dear friend!
     My dear friend, having with you born out
     The most precious treasures of the land.

     I am robbed and deceived - There's no letter,
     No ring in my memory!
     How the features are memorable to me
     Of your face, wondering for centuries.

     How memorable is the asking, attentive
     Stare - inviting to sit near -
     And the worldy flattery of the dying
     And the smile from the great Afar -

     My dear friend, gone to sailing eternally -
     A fresh hillock among other mounds!
     Pray that there will not be other sailors
     Ensconced in your heavenly sound.




From Cycle "Girlfriend"



     1
     You're happy? You won't say! Barely!
     Better let go!
     You kissed too many, I do think,
     Therefrom, sorrow.

     All heroines of Shakespeare's tragedies
     In you I see.
     Nobody saved you, you the young
     Tragic lady.

     You are so tired of repeating
     Love's charm!
     Eloquent, the pig iron bracelet
     On bloodless arm.

     I love you. - Like a thundercloud
     Above you - sin -
     Because you're best of all and caustic
     And sting,

     Because in darkness of the roads differ
     Our lives and we,
     For your inspired enticement and
     Dark destiny,

     Because to you, my round-headed demon,
     "Forgive" I'll say,
     Because you - tear apart above the coffin! -
     Cannot be saved!

     For this trembling, because - is it not so -
     I have a dream? -
     For the ironic beauty of this,
     That you - aren't he.


     2
     Under caresses of an ivy
     Plaid I recalled yesterday's dream.
     Whose victory? Who's been defeated?
     What has it been?

     Rethinking everything once more,
     Torturing myself once again.
     In this, for which no word I know,
     Had love ever been?

     Who was the hunter? Who - the hunted?
     All is reversed as if by Satan!
     What did the loudly purring Siberian
     Cat, understand?

     In this self-willing one another
     Who in whose hand was but a ball?
     Whose heart flew - yours or mine,
     Do you recall?

     And still again - what has it been too?
     What do I want, what do I pity?
     And I don't know: Did I win? Did somebody
     Conquer me?


     3
     Today was melting, and today
     Before the window I did stand.
     A sober look, a freer chest,
     I'm satisfied just once again.

     I don't know why. Perhaps the soul
     Has simply grown tired withal,
     And somehow the rebellious pencil
     I do not wish to touch at all.

     Distant to good and evil both,
     Inside the fog I stood, and thus,
     Was lightly drumming with my finger
     Upon the barely sounding glass.

     It is indifferent to the soul
     Than this one you first met - say I -
     Than mother-of-the-pearl mud puddles
     Where in full pleasure splashed the sky,

     Than bird that overhead is flying
     And dog that's simply running by
     And even the impoverished singer
     Did not begin to make me cry.

     The dear art of oblivion
     The soul has mastered all the way.
     Some overwhelmingly big feeling
     Melted within my soul today.


     4
     You were too lazy to get dressed,
     Too lazy to get up for me.
     And every following day for you
     Would have been happy with my glee.

     To come so late on a cold night
     Embarrassed you especially.
     And every following hour for you
     Would have been young with this my glee.

     I was the youth that passed you by -
     You did this without ill intent,
     Your actions were in every way
     Incorrigible, innocent.


     5
     Today, around eight, dashing through
     Big Lubanka straight ahead,
     Like bullet, like snowball,
     Somewhere rushed the sled.

     Already the laughter rang...
     I froze as I peered:
     Red down of the hair
     And somebody tall was near!

     We were with another, and opened
     Another sled route entire,
     With wished-for and dear to me -
     More strongly, than I - desired.

     "O, je n'en puis plus, j'etouffe!" -
     You screamed in full voice of yours,
     And boldly went tucking in
     The hollow of fur on her.

     World is happy, and evening is bold!
     From the muff purchases fly...
     Thus you rushed in a snowstorm,
     Coat to coat, eye to eye.

     And cruelest mutiny happened,
     And white snow did pour.
     I followed you with my eyes
     For two seconds - and no more.

     And caressed the longish nap
     Upon his coat - without wrath.
     O Snow Queen! Your little Kai
     Is frozen to death.


     6
     Just like a young plant sprout
     The neck is high and free.
     Who'll tell the name, who - years,
     Who - place, who - century?

     The curve of not bright lips
     Is capricious and wan,
     But blinding is the terraced
     Forehead of Beethoven.

     Clean to endearment
     Is the molten oval.
     A hand, in which a whip would do,
     And - in the silver - opal.

     Hand, meriting a fiddlestick,
     Gone into precious silk,
     A beautiful hand also,
     A hand that is unique.


     7
     You on your road pass me by,
     And your hand do not touch I.
     But my angst is eternal yet,
     That you be the first I met.

     Heart said "Dear!" at once
     I forgave you all by chance,
     Knowing nothing - not even the name!
     Love me, love me, I proclaim.

     From the curve of your lips with one glance
     I see their forced arrogance,
     By above brows jutting out:
     This heart storms, no doubt.

     With a black silk armor - dress,
     Voice with gypsy hoarseness,
     Until pain I like all things in thee,
     Even that you are not a beauty.

     Beauty, in summer won't wilt!
     Not a flower - you're a stalk made of steel,
     Meaner than mean, sharper than sharp, dear,
     From what island born away here?

     With a rod you do wonders, with a fan -
     In each bone and in each vein,
     In the form of each finger full of rage -
     Woman's tenderness, boy's courage.

     Parrying all ridicules with verse
     I open for you and the Universe
     All that's ready in you then
     Stranger with forehead of Beethoven!


     8
     Under sun the eyes are burning,
     Day's not equal day.
     I tell you for that occasion
     If I would betray:

     Whose lips I had not been kissing
     In the hour of love,
     To whom I upon black midnight
     Did not scarily vow -

     To live, like a flower blooms, like
     Mother tells a child,
     Never with an eye to go
     To any side..

     See that cross made of cypress?
     It's familiar to you.
     All will wake - you only whistle
     Under my window.


     9
     I'll repeat in hour of parting
     When love comes to end
     That I loved, yes that I loved these
     Your masterful hands

     And the eyes - somebody isn't
     Gifted with a glance! -
     Those that answer are demanding
     For a look by chance.

     You with your thrice-cursed passion -
     God sees all, say I!
     And demanding a payment for
     An accidental sigh.

     And I tiredly say, to listen
     Hurry not at all!
     Why is it that your own soul
     Stands across my soul.

     And again I'll also tell you:
     All the same - start this! -
     Far too young was this my mouth
     For your gentle kiss.

     Glance is luminous and daring,
     Heart - like five year old...
     Happy's he who did not meet you
     On your road.


     10
     Before a mirror, where there's fog
     And turbid sleep, your way
     I want to try - where it will lead
     And where there is the quay.

     I see: the mast upon a ship,
     And you - on deck, standing...
     You - in the smoke of train... the fields
     In lament of evening

     The ravens flying overhead,
     The evening fields in dew...
     In all the four directions I
     Am truly blessing you.


     11
     The clock - what time it is?
     Rang out.
     Hollows of giant eyes,
     Watered satin of the dress..
     I just about see you, I guess,
     Just about.

     The neighboring porch
     Has turned off the light.
     Somewhere they love too much..
     Your face's sketch
     Is a scary sight.

     It's semi-dark in the room,
     One is the night.
     Pierced by the light of the moon
     Window deepened -
     Like ice sheet.

     "You give up" - the voice burst.
     "I didn't fight by choice."
     Voice from the moon catches frost.
     Voice - like from hundred verst
     This same voice!

     Between us stood ray of moon,
     Moving the world everywhere.
     Intolerably shone
     Metal red-brown
     Of crazy hair.

     Run of the moon forgot
     History's run.
     Mirror breaks moon apart.
     Knocking of hooves far apart,
     Screeching of a cart.

     Light on the street burned down,
     Running fades.
     A cock will sing soon
     Parting for two young
     Ladies.




x x x


     Insanity - and good reason,
     Disgrace - and honor,
     All, that brings on thoughtfulness,
     Is spilling over -

     In me. - All the penal passions
     Become as one! -
     All images wage war inside
     This hair of mine!

     The lover's whisper, all around
     By rote I know,
     Experience of twenty two years
     Nothing but sorrow!

     But - won't you say - innocently pink
     Look I,
     I'm virtuoso's virtuoso
     In art of lies.

     In her let out like a ball,
     Caught once again,
     The blood of Polish great-grandmoms
     Is evident.

     I lie because in cemeteries
     The grass does grow,
     I lie because in cemeteries
     Snowstorm does blow...

     From violin - from automobile -
     From silk, from fire...
     From torment that not only me
     They all desired!

     From pain, that I am not the bride
     Of the groom...
     From poem and gesture - for the gesture
     And for the poem!

     From tender boa on the neck...
     And how can I
     Not lie - when my voice sounds more tender
     When I do lie...




x x x


     I like it that you're burning not for me,
     I like it that it's not for you I'm burning
     And that the heavy sphere of Planet Earth
     Will underneath our feet no more be turning
     I like it that I can be unabashed
     And humorous and not to play with words
     And not to redden with a smothering wave
     When with my sleeves I'm lightly touching yours.

     I like it, that before my very eyes
     You calmly hug another; it is well
     That for me also kissing someone else
     You will not threaten me with flames of hell.
     That this my tender name, not day nor night,
     You will recall again, my tender love;
     That never in the silence of the church
     They will sing "halleluiah" us above.

     With this my heart and this my hand I thank
     You that - although you don't know it -
     You love me thus; and for my peaceful nights
     And for rare meetings in the hour of sunset,
     That we aren't walking underneath the moon,
     That sun is not above our heads this morning,
     That you - alas - are burning not for me
     And that - alas - it's not for you I'm burning.



x x x


     My ancestor was a rider,
     A thief, man with violin.
     Is this not why my taste wanders
     And hair smells of wind?

     Does not he steal from a car,
     Tan, apricots with my hand,
     The author of my passionate fate,
     Hook-nosed and curly-haired.

     Twirling between teeth a wild rose
     He wondered at tiller with plough..
     He was a bad comrade - and wild
     And tender he was at love!

     Moon, beads, pipe and neighboring girls -
     All of them - he loved.
     I also think that my yellow-eyed
     Ancestor was a coward.

     That, having sold soul to Devil for a pence
     At midnight he did not go
     By cemetery; that he carried a knife
     Behind a boot-leg, so.

     That many a time from a corner he jumped
     Like a cat, agile and thin..
     And somehow I understood that he did
     Not play on a violin.

     And somehow all was not fitting to him,
     Like in the summer - last year's snow.
     Such a violinist my ancestor was.
     I became such a poet - so.



x x x


     Sleep the rattles and dogs of neighbors -
     Not one voice, not one car.
     O lover, do not investigate
     Why I am parting the bar.

     New moon to a midnight is going:
     Hour of monks - and of sharp-eyed birds,
     Hour of youths and conspirators,
     Hour of lovers and murderers.

     Here each person's thought is double,
     Here, rider, hurry the horse.
     We will pass, not jingling with bracelets
     And not tinkling with a purse.

     Now the houses part with houses,
     On the square there is talk and dance..
     Here, before a small Mother of God,
     Cordoba did its love pronounce.

     Here, upon a stone porch,
     By the fountain we'll sit silently,
     Where you first for my face were aiming
     With wolf's eyes.

     Rustling of silk around the knees,
     Smell of rose and a lock of hair..
     O, beloved one - see, she's here -
     Carmen the poisoner!



x x x


     There is no day's temptation
     In a folio in which people die.
     To woman - all of the planet,
     To woman - Ars Amandi.

     Heart - of a lovers' potion
     Heart - is more loyal than all.
     Somebody's mortal sin is
     Woman from the cradle.

     Ah, so far to the heaven!
     Lips - in the dark are near..
     God, do not judge! On the planet
     A woman you never were.



x x x


     The gypsy passion of parting!
     You meet it - and you take flight!
     I dropped the arms and the forehead
     And think staring into the night:

     No one, digging in our letters,
     Understood in all depth
     How we're sacrilegious - that is
     How we in each other have faith.



Poems about Moscow



     1
     Clouds - all around,
     Cupolas - around,
     Over all Moscow
     Many arms are wound!-
     I am lifting you, my best burden you
     Oh my little tree
     Flying weightlessly!

     In this wonder-town,
     In this peaceful town,
     Where if I were dead
     I'd be happy one,
     To be king for you, and to grieve for you,
     A wreath to take on,
     Oh my one firstborn!

     You to Sacrament bow
     Do not blacken brows
     And all forty - count -
     Forty churches now.
     You with steps do walk - with a young one's walk -
     All the many thrills
     Of the seven hills.

     Time will come for you:
     And the daughters - too
     You will give Moscow
     With sweet sorrow.
     My sleep by my will, like a ringing bell,
     Early dawns above -
     On the Vagankov.


     2
     From my hands - not a hand-created town,
     My gorgeous brother, my strange one.

     Upon the church - Forty times forty, side by side,
     And pigeons that above them glide.

     And Spassky - with flowers - gate,
     Where Orthodox Believer doffs his hat.

     The starry belltower - haven from sin -
     Where from the people's kisses floor is clean.

     Incomparable five-cathedral round
     Accept, my ancient and inspired friend.

     To Unexpected Joy in the garden
     I'll lead my guest from foreign land.

     The sleepless bells will ring, will shine
     The cupolas of gold very fine,

     And a cloth will be dropped by Mother of God
     Upon you from the purple clouds.

     And you will get up, full of divine power..
     And you won't repent that you were my lover.


     3
     Past the towers at night
     We are rushed by squares.
     Oh, how roar of soldiers
     In the night instills fear!

     Rumble, loud heart!
     Kiss with passion, love!
     This roar is so bestial!
     Daring - oh - is blood!

     My mouth is aflame,
     Given that sight's divine.
     Like a golden chest
     Iverskaya does shine.

     You stop picking quarrels
     And a candle light,
     That it won't be now
     With you as I'd like.


     4
     The day will come - a sad day, they say!
     They'll finish ruling, finish crying, burn away -
     Chilled with the others' nickels all the same -
     My eyes, moveable like the flame.
     And - like a double as his double he does sense -
     The likeness will appear through light face.
     O, I at last will merit thee,
     A gorgeous belt of beauty!

     And from afar - do I envy thee? -
     Will pull, absently cristening,
     A pilgrimage along the road black
     To my hand, which I surely won't draw back,
     To my hand, on which the ban no longer sits,
     To my hand, that no more exists.

     Your kisses, O the living ones,
     I won't oppose at first - not one.
     The majesty's shawl beautiful
     Has shrouded me from head to heel.
     Nothing will make me blush, today
     I have a holy Easter day.

     Along the streets of left-alone Moscow
     I will drive forth, and you will slowly go.
     And none will lag behind along the road,
     And on coffin's roof will thunder the first stone -
     And sleep, self-loving and lonely
     Will be resolved finally.
     And nothing will be needed to Marina
     Our newly-introduced ballerina.


     5
     Above the city Peter cursed to hell
     Rolled the delirious thunder of the bells.

     Turned over thundering the high tide of the sea
     Above the woman that was rebuked by thee.

     To Peter and to you, O Tsar, praise be!
     But bells are higher still than both of ye.

     While they are ringing still out of the blue -
     Indisputable, Moscow's primogeniture.

     And sixteen hundred churches, near and far
     All laugh at puny hubris of the tsars.


     6
     The rain of bells drizzles above
     The blue of near-Moscow groves.
     Blind men wander the Kaluga road -

     Beautiful - Kaluga - song, and the same
     Washes and washes the names
     Of peaceful wanderers, in darkness of ones praising God.

     And I think at these times: Someday I
     Of you, friends, and you, enemies, having tired,
     And of compliance of Russian word -

     A silver cross on my chest I will don
     Cross myself and quietly go along
     The old Kaluga road.


     7
     Seven hills - just like seven bells!
     Belltowers on the seven bells.
     Sixteen hundred of them, to count them all.
     Full of bells are these Moscow's seven hills!

     In the ringing, fine-gold day of John
     The Baptist was born. House like gingerbread,
     And around a hedge, and around a hedge,
     And the churches there stand with golden heads.

     And as nuns were pouring to dining hall,
     The first ringing I did love, I did love
     And the sorceress from a neighbor's yard
     And hot sleep and noise in the stove.

     Do conduct me, all you imbecile,
     Thieving, flagellant Moscow crowd!
     Priest, shut my mouth more tightly still
     With the ringing-bell Moscow's ground!


     8
     Moscow - what a giant
     And strangely-mannered home!
     In Russia all are homeless.
     We all to you will come.

     A knife behind a boot-leg,
     A shoulder brand in shame.
     From far away us all
     You will call all the same.

     Upon the penal brandings,
     On every kind of ill -
     A baby Panteleimon
     We have, O man who heals,

     And there behind that door,
     Where all the people pour -
     There the fine golden heart
     Is burning of Iver.

     And "Halleluiah" pours
     Upon the fields grown tan.
     I kiss you in the bosom,
     O the Moscow land!


     9
     With a red brush
     The mountain-ash burned:
     The leaves were falling
     And I was born.

     Hundreds of belltowers
     Argued at least.
     It was the Saturday:
     John the Baptist.

     And in my teeth now
     I want to crush
     The hot ashberry's
     Bitter brush.



From Cycle "Insomnia"



     1
     In a shady ring my eyes
     She surrounded - insomnia.
     With a shady wreath insomnia
     Did my eyes bind.

     At night - the same!
     To idols don't pray.
     Idol-worshipper - I'll give
     Your secret away.

     To you - day's not enough,
     Fire of sun above!

     You pale-faced one, wear
     My rings' pair!
     You screamed - and proclaimed
     The wreath of shade.

     Enough - did you - call me?
     Enough - did you - sleep with me?

     People bow to you.
     Light in face you'll lie.
     I'll be reader to you,
     I, insomnia:

     Sleep, soothed,
     Sleep, rewarded one,
     Sleep, wreathed,
     Woman.

     That - you would sleep - easy,
     I will sing - to thee:

     "Never-silent one,
     Go to sleep, my girl,
     You the sleepless one,
     Sleep, my little pearl."

     And to whom we didn't write letters so,
     And to whom we did not vow..
     Sleep.

     Here now parted are
     The inseparable.
     Here released from arms
     Are your little arms.
     Here you're tormented,
     My dear tormentess.

     Sleep's - holy.
     All - sleep.
     Wreath's - gone.


     2
     In my giant city it is night.
     From the sleepy home I alight
     People think: Daughter and wife
     And I recall just this: Night.

     On my way blows the wind of July
     And somewhere music in a window - barely.
     Ah, now the wind will blow until dawn
     Into the chest through the chest's thin wall.

     There's light on the window, and a black poplar,
     A flower in the hand, and ringing in the tower,
     And this step nobody behind,
     And this my shade, but me you can't find.

     Fires - like threads of golden beads,
     Taste of night leaf between my teeth.
     Free me from shackles of the day,
     That I'm your dream, friends, understand.


     3
     After a sleepless night the body gets weaker,
     It becomes dear and not yours - and nobody's.
     Just like a seraph you smile to people
     And arrows moan in the slow arteries.

     After a sleepless night the arms get weaker
     And deeply equal to you are the friend and foe.
     Smells like Florence in the frost, and in each
     Sudden sound is the whole rainbow.

     Tenderly light the lips, and the shadow's golden
     Near the sunken eyes. Here the night has sparked
     This brilliant likeness - and from the dark night
     Only just one thing - the eyes - are growing dark.


     4
     This night today I am alone in the night -
     A sleepless and a homeless nun!
     This night today I have the keys
     Of all the gates of capital, just one!

     The sleeplessness has pushed me on the way.
     O, dusky Kremlin, how you're beautiful!
     I kiss into the chest this night today
     The whirling-round ground as it does howl!

     The stifling wind blows straight into the soul,
     The hair arises - not the hair, but down.
     Those who are pitied and those who are kissed -
     This night today I pity everyone.


     5
     A window here again
     Where they don't sleep again.
     Maybe they thus sit,
     Maybe they drink wine.
     Or they would not part
     Simply the two hands.
     There is such a window
     In each house, friend.

     Window in the night -
     Partings', meetings' scream!
     Maybe - hundred candles,
     Maybe - only three.
     And my restless mind
     Cannot find its peace.
     In my very home
     Was begotten this.

     Pray, friend, for the sleepless home
     Behind a window with a flame!



From Cycle "Poems to Blok"



     1
     A bird in the hand is your name,
     An icicle on the tongue is your name,
     One movement of your lips is your name,
     Five letters is your name.
     A ball caught in the flight it is,
     A silver tambourine between the lips,

     A stone, into a quiet pond thrown,
     Will sob the name by which you're known.
     Your loud name resonates in the light
     Crackling of the hooves in the night.
     And a trigger with crackling ample
     Will call it back into the temple.

     Your name - forbid this! -
     Your name - the eyes kiss,
     In tender chill of motionless eyelids
     Your name - to the snow give a kiss.
     Key, ice, blue gulp - deep
     With your name is the sleep.


     2
     A knight without reproach,
     A ghost, a gentle one,
     Who is it that called you
     Into my life so young?

     In fog greyish-blue
     Dressed in a chausible
     Of snow, stand you.

     Around the city
     By the wind I'm chased,
     For the third evening
     A thief I sensed.

     The blue-eyed
     Singer of snow
     Stared at me so.

     The snow-white swan
     Puts down under my feet. Flow
     Feathers
     And slowly fall on the snow.

     Thus on the feathers
     I walk to the door
     Behind which is death.

     Beyond blue windows
     He sings to me,
     With far-away tambourines
     He sings to me,

     With far-off cry
     With swan's cry
     He calls.

     My dear ghost!
     All's my dream, I know.
     Do a good thing:
     Amen, amen, scatter so!
     Amen.


     3
     You walk out to the Falling Sun,
     You'll see the evening light,
     You walk out to the Falling Sun,
     And the snowstorm the trace blots out.

     Past the windows - passionless -
     In the quiet snow you will go,
     My beautiful believer in true God,
     Quiet to the light of my soul.

     I do not lust after your soul!
     Your footpath is inviolable.
     Into the arm, white from the kisses,
     I will not hammer my nail.

     And I will not respond to the name,
     And I will not pull with my arm,
     To the sacred image of wax
     I will only bow from afar.

     And, standing under the slow snow,
     I will fall on my knees in the snow,
     And in your holy name
     I will kiss the evening snow -

     There, where with a majestic foot
     In the coffin quiet you did go,
     Quiet to light - holy glories -
     You the keeper of my soul.


     4
     To beast - a den,
     To wanderer - road
     To dead one - quay
     To each - their own way.

     To a woman - to connive,
     To the king - to rule,
     To me - to glory
     Your name.


     5
     Cupolas are burning in Moscow!
     Bells are ringing here in Moscow!
     And coffins here stand in row -
     In them queens do sleep, and the kings.

     And you do not know, in Kremlin at dawn
     Breathing's lighter - than on all the earth!
     And you do not know, in Kremlin at dawn
     Till the dawn I pray and sing.

     And you walk on by this your Nieva
     At the time, when on river Moskva
     I stand and my head bow
     And the flashlights cling.

     With insomnia I am loving you,
     With insomnia I am hearing you -
     Of the time when, on the whole Kremlin too
     Awaken those who ring..

     But my river - with your river flows,
     And my arm - with your arm goes
     They won't come together, Oh my joy
     Dawn catches dawn until.


     6
     They thought he was a man!
     And they forced him to die.
     He died forevermore.
     About a dead angel, cry!

     He sang the evening beauty
     At sundown of the day.
     Shimmer hypocritically
     Three waxen flames.

     Rays went from him -
     On the snow, hot strings!
     Three candles of wax -
     To the sun! Light-bearing!

     O look now, how his
     Dark eyelids have sunken in!
     O look now, how his
     Wings are broken!

     The black reader reads,
     Crosses the arms idle...
     The dead singer lies
     And celebrates Sunday.


     7
     Like a weak ray through black gloom of the hells -
     Thus is your voice against exploding cannonballs.

     And in the thunder, just like some seraph
     Announces in a voice tone-deaf -

     Somewhere from foggy mornings long ago -
     How he did love us blind and nameless so -

     For sin - disloyalty, for coat of blue..
     For how, Russia, he did not stop loving you,

     And more tender than all - that, the most deep
     Into night vanished he to do the wicked deeds!

     And near the temple - how with a lost pen
     He leads and leads.. and about that then,

     What days await us, how God will tell lies,
     How you will call the sun - and it won't rise!

     Thus, as one with prisoner
     (Or child is silent in the sleep no more)

     Before us came - on square wide and far -
     Alexander Blok's holy heart.


     8
     Here is he - look - tired of the foreign lands,
     A chief without friends.

     Here -drinks from mountain rapids with his hand -
     A knight with no land.

     There's all for him: knighthood, and land,
     Mother, and bread.

     Great's your inheritance - so rule this land,
     Friend without friends!


     9
     His friends - do not bother him!
     His servants - do not bother him!
     It was so evident on his face:
     Not from this world does my kingdom come.

     Eternal snowstorms circled the veins
     Hunched-over shoulders bent from the wings,
     In singing cut, into baked-over flame
     He let his soul go like a swan.

     Fall then, O fall then, copper heavy!
     Wings are ordained correctly: To fly!
     Lips, that have shouted the word: Respond! -
     They know, that this is not there - to die!

     He drinks the dawn, drinks the sea - in full
     Revels. - Don't serve the requiem!
     Of one who forever ordered: Be! -
     There is enough bread left to feed him!


     10
     Not a broken rib -
     A broken wing.

     Not to the shooters shot -
     Through chest. Not to take out

     This bullet. Wing can't be repaired.
     He walked impaired.


     -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --
     Sticky is crown of thorns on the head!
     What is the noise of mob to one dead,

     The swan's down of woman's flattery...
     He walked, deaf and lonely,

     Freezing over the sunsets
     With emptiness of eyeless statues.

     But one thing still lived in him:
     The broken wing.


     11
     Without word, without call -
     Like a thatcher from the roof falls.
     And maybe, again
     He comes - you lie in the cradle?

     You burn and don't dim,
     The light of weeks several..
     Which of the mortals
     Rocks your cradle?

     The blessed heaviness!
     Singing chestnut that prophesies!
     Oh, who will tell me
     In which cradle you lie?

     "While it's not sold!"
     With jealousy in my head
     With a great detour
     I'll walk the Russian land.

     The midnight countries
     Will go from end to end.
     Where's his wound the mouth,
     His eyes' bluish lead?

     Take him! Hold tightly!
     To love him and love him only!
     O, who will whisper
     In which cradle you lie?

     Pearly grains,
     Muslin shade full of sleep.
     Not laurel but thorn -
     Sharp-toothed shade of a cap.

     Not angel, but bird
     Opened two white wings!
     And to be born once more,
     That could be swept by the wind?!

     Tear him! Hold tightly!
     Just don't give away! Hold high!
     Oh, who will breathe to me
     In which cradle you lie?

     And maybe false is
     My feat, and my labor futile.
     How you're put in the ground,
     Maybe - you'll sleep till pipe call.

     The giant indenture
     Of your temples - catches my sight.
     Such an exhaustion -
     Can't be lifted even with pipes!

     The country pasture,
     Rusty, quiet reliably.
     The janitor will show me
     In which cradle you lie.


     12
     Like drunk, like sleepy
     Unawares, without caution,
     The dimples of temples:
     Sleepless conscience.

     Empty eye sockets:
     All dead and light.
     Empty glass of a dreamer
     And man with second sight.

     Not you on
     Still rustling pile of garbage
     Carried out -
     Returning by Hades' gorge?

     Did not this,
     Ringing with a silver bell,
     Head flow past
     The sleepy Gebr?


     13
     Thus, O the Lord! And this my prayer
     Accept for temple's confirmation.
     I sing not pleasures of my love -
     I sing the wound of my nation.

     Not nasty person's rusty trunk -
     Granite, with people's knees rubbed coarse.
     Hero and king given to all,
     To all - a singer - righteous - corpse.

     Not bashful at the coffin boards,
     Breaking upon Dnieper the ices,
     Russia - on Easter we do swim
     To you with pouring thousand-voices.

     Thus, heart, there will be cry and praise!
     Let your cry - which thousand?
     The mortal love is jealous so.
     The other's at the chorus glad.



To Akhmatova



     1
     O muse of weeping, the most beautiful muse!
     O you the child of white night, ever mad and fierce!
     A black snowstorm over Russia you send
     And your cries our hearts like flying arrows pierce.

     And we tumble down and a deaf "Oh" -
     A hundred thousand people your name are calling:
     Anna Akhmatova! The name is a giant sigh,
     And she who is nameless into the abyss is falling.

     We're blessed that along with you we walk the same
     Earth, that the sky is the same overhead;
     And he, who is wounded with your mortal fate,
     As an immortal goes onto his deathbed.

     In my singing city the cupolas are aflame,
     And wandering blind man praises the Spassky light..
     And I give to you my city that's full of bells,
     Akhmatova, and my heart I give to you beside.


     2
     What are people's wiles to me? Holding
     My head I stand,
     On late dawn I sing
     Holding my head.

     Ah, I have been raised on the crest
     Of a wave wrathful and mad!
     I sing you, that you are alone among us,
     Like moon overhead!

     That, having flown like a raven on the heart,
     Pierced the clouds so.
     Hook-nosed one, whose wrath is deadly and
     Whose mercy's deadly also.

     That over my Kremlin made of fine gold
     Has spread out her night,
     That tied my neck as if with a belt
     With singing delight.

     Ah, I am happy! Never the dawn
     Had been more clear,
     Ah, I am happy, that for your sake
     I'm leaving as a beggar -

     That you, whose voice, narrowed my breath -
     O depth, O haze -
     That by the name I called
     The Village of the Tsar muse.


     3
     Just one more gigantic flap -
     Eyelids are quiet.
     O, dear body! O the ash
     Of bird so light!

     I sang and waited, what I did
     In fog of day.
     So little body was in her,
     And so much sigh.

     Her dreamy sleepiness is not
     Humanly dear.
     Something of eagle and of angel
     There was in her.

     She sleeps, and chorus lulls her to
     Garden of Eden.
     As if he's not sated with song,
     The sleeping demon!


     -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --
     Hours, days, centuries - Not us,
     Not our rooms yet.
     And monument does not recall
     Already, bent.

     The broom is doing naught for long,
     And sweetly heave
     Over the Muse of Village of the Tsar
     The nettle's leaves.


     4
     Mother's name is Anna,
     Lev - of the child.
     In his name is fury,
     In her is quiet.
     Red is his hair -
     Tulip's head!
     So, Hossanah
     To the little tsar!

     God give him lungs
     And the smile of Mom
     And a look of
     Pearl-seeking one.
     God, attentively
     Look after him:
     Tsar's son's more divine
     Than the other sons.

     Red lion-cub
     With green eyes,
     Heavy burden is on your head!

     Northern and Southern oceans
     And thread of pearl
     Black rosary is in your hand.


     5
     You repeat nobody. How many
     Companions and friends! And
     Pride and bitterness rule over
     This youth so tender.

     Remember the crazy day at the port
     Threats of the Southern wind,
     Roar of the Caspian - and in the mouth
     A rose's wing.

     Like a gypsy I gave to you
     A stone in a cut frame,
     Like a gypsy I lied to you
     Something about fame..

     And - high at the sails -
     Teenager in blue blouse.
     Thunder of sea and the menacing call
     Of the wounded Muse.


     6
     You won't leave alone! I'm a warden,
     You're an escort. The fate is one.
     And one in the frigid empty
     Order for horses is to us given.

     And my temperament is peaceful!
     And clear are my eyes!
     Let me go, Mr. Escort, now
     To take a walk to that pine!


     7
     That from catafalques and from cribs
     You, ripping away the cover,
     You that fan the winds
     And snowstorms send over,

     Sending fevers, poems and wars -
     Serf-keeper! Black magician! -
     I have heard the menacing roar
     Of lions, of the chariot preaching.

     I hear voices in passionate tones -
     And a steadfastly silent one.
     I see the red sails -
     And a black one them among.

     Either by ocean you lead the way,
     With the full breast - or by air
     I, like sun, wait, holding out my chest
     To the judgment that does death bear.


     8
     People shouted on the street,
     Smoke flew from the bakery place.
     I remembered the ruby mouth
     Of a street singer with narrow face.

     In the dark kerchief with flowers -
     Honored by your civility
     You were drowned in the crowd
     Of praying ones at Sergei-Trinity,

     Pray for me, beautiful one,
     Sorrowful one and mad,
     How the forests will crown you as
     The lashing mother of god.


     9
     To the golden-lipped Anne - to a word
     That all of Russia redeems!
     Carry away my voice
     And my heavy sigh, wind.

     About quiet bow of the earth among
     Golden fields, O the burning skies,
     Tell the story; and also about
     From the agony blackened eyes.

     You attained once again
     In the thundering height!
     You - the nameless one!
     Carry love of mine
     To the gold-lipped Anne -
     All of Russia!


     10
     At the thin wire over oats' wave
     Like thousand voices - is the voice today!

     And - holy, holy, holy - tabors passing by
     Speak with the same voice, O the holy,

     I stand and I listen and I rub the corn ear,
     And voice locks me up with a dark cupola.


     -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --
     Not these branches of swimming willows
     But your arm I truly touch so.

     For all, who in torment your approach glory -
     The earthly woman, a cross in the sky to me!

     At night curtsies to you alone I bear,
     And with your eyes from the walls the icons stare!


     11
     You'll overtake the Sun in the sky,
     In your hand all the stars!
     Ah, if - only to enter you
     Like a wind - door ajar!

     And to tremble, and burst out,
     And sharply to dull the sight,
     And, like a forgiven child,
     To sob and to go quiet.


     12
     I have been given arms - to each one to stretch both,
     Not to hold tight not with one, lips - to give names,
     Eyes - not to see, the high eyebrows above them -
     To tenderly marvel at love, and more still at not love.

     And this the bell there, heavier than the Kremlin's,
     Ceaselessly walking and walking around in the chest -
     This - who knows? - I don't know - maybe - it must be -
     I will not become a guest on the Russian soil!



x x x


     I'll conquer you from all lands, from all the sky,
     Because forest is my cradle and in the forest I'll die,
     For I stand on the ground with just one of my legs,
     For I will sing to you like no one else.

     I'll conquer you from all times, I will fight
     All golden banners, all swords and all nights,
     I will chase away dogs from a porch and I'll throw the key
     For in winter night not even dogs are more loyal than me.

     I'll conquer you from all others - from that one
     I will be no one's wife, you - no one's groom,
     And in the last argument I will take you - be quiet! -
     From the one with which Jacob stood in the night.

     But for now I won't on your chest the fingers cross -
     With you, you remain - O the curse! -
     Your two wings, that at the ether take aim -
     Because the world is your cradle, and world your grave.



x x x


     To you, my rival, I will come sometime
     At night when moon is standing overhead
     When frogs are wailing loudly on the pond
     And women are from pity going mad.

     And, marveling at the beating of the eyelids
     And on your jealous eyelashes, it seems,
     I'll tell you that I'm not a human being
     But just a vision which you only dream.

     And I will say: "Console me, console,
     Someone is beating nails into my heart!"
     And I will say to you that wind is fresh
     And that the stars over our heads are hot.



To Jews


     Who did not stomp on you - who did not melt you -
     O merchant of the non-flammable roses!
     One thing unshakable on this planet
     Did allow behind him Jesus:

     Israel! Your second kingdom's coming:
     For all the money, if they only knew,
     You paid with all your blood - you are the heroes,
     The traitors, prophets, and the traders too.

     In each of you - Even in him that counts
     His gold before a candle in the dark -
     The voice of Jesus resonates more loudly
     Than in John, Matthew, Luke and Mark.

     Around the earth - from ocean to ocean -
     Crucifixion and from the cross taking down -
     We'll give Jesus Christ a true burial,
     Israel, with the last one of your sons!



x x x


     You, measuring me by days,
     With, hot and homeless, me,
     Wandered under the giant moon
     Upon the squares heated strongly?

     And in the tavern filled with plague,
     When solemn waltz a sound did make,
     Did you not in a drunken fist
     My piercing fingers verily break?

     With which voice in my sleep do I
     Whisper - you heard? - O smoke and ash! -
     What can you know of me, since you
     With me did not sleep or get trashed?



x x x


     August - asters,
     August - stars,
     August - bunches
     Of grapes and ashberry
     Rusty - August!

     Like a child, August
     You play with your apple
     Good-natured and full of weight.
     Like with hand, with your imperial
     Name you do caress the heart:
     August! - Heart!
     Month of late kisses,
     Of late roses and late lightning!
     Of the rain beneath the stars
     August! - Month
     Of the rain beneath the stars!



Don Juan



     1
     Under the sixth birch
     At the corner church
     On the frosty dawn
     Wait, Don Juan!

     But with groom, alas,
     And my life I swear,
     There is nowhere
     In my land to kiss!

     We don't have a fountain,
     And the well did freeze,
     Strict, severe eyes
     Does Madonna have.

     And so that the beauties
     Trifles would not hear
     We have loud and clear
     Ringing of the bell.

     Here I would have lived,
     But - I will grow old,
     You don't like my world
     O the handsome one.

     Ah, in a bear coat
     It's hard to recognize you,
     If not for your lips too,
     O Don Juan!


     2
     Long upon the foggy dawn
     The snowstorm did weep.
     In a bed of snow they lay
     Don Juan to sleep.

     No hot stars above his head,
     Not a roaring fountain..
     Othodox cross is on the chest
     Of our Don Juan.

     I have brought a Sevillian
     Fan, black, so that night
     That's eternal, for yourself
     Would become more light.

     That you'd see a woman's beauty
     With your own sight,
     I will bring without a doubt
     A heart to you tonight.

     And for now - from distant lands -
     Sleep now, sleep in peace! -
     You have come to me. Complete,
     Don Juan, is your list.


     3
     Aren't you tired, after so many roses,
     Cities and toasts
     To love me? You're almost a skeleton,
     I'm almost a ghost.

     And why should I know, that you had to call
     On a higher power?
     And why should I know, that there was smell of Nile
     In my hair?

     No, I better tell you a tale:
     January it was.
     A monk with a mask carried a flashlight.
     Someone threw a rose.

     Someone's drunken voice at cathedral walls
     Prayed and swore.
     Don Juan of Castille met Carmen
     At this hour.


     4
     Exactly - midnight.
     Moon - like a hawk.
     "Why - do you peer?"
     "Thus - I peer!"
     "Do you like me?" "No."
     "Do you recognize me?" "Maybe."
     "I am Don Juan."
     "And I am Carmen."


     5
     And this Don Juan had Donna Anna,
     And this Don Juan possessed a sword.
     Of the beautiful, unhappy Don Juan
     This from people is the only word.

     But I was a clever one today:
     I at midnight stepped on roadside,
     Someone went along with me in stride
     Calling names.

     And in fog the staff paled, a strange one..
     There was no Donna Anna for Don Juan!


     6
     And the silk sash is falling
     To his feet - a snake heavenly..
     And "someday, when she's underground,
     You will calm down" they tell me.

     I see my profile, old
     And arrogant in brocade white.
     And somewhere - guitars - guitars -
     And youths in a cloak like the night.

     And somebody under mask hiding:
     "Recognize!" - "I don't know" - "Recognize!"
     And the silk sash is falling
     On a square round like paradise.


     7
     And fanning in eyes of the coming
     Sadness and sin,
     You pass the city - brutally-black,
     Heavenly-thin.

     Covered with torment, like with fog,
     Is your eye.
     In loop - a rose, in all the pockets -
     Words of love. Aye!

     I hear your call over the restaurant
     Violin.
     I send a smile to you from the distance,
     Robber king!

     And then I recognize that same look,
     Spreading my wings,
     With which in Castille at me stared
     Your older sibling.



x x x


     Above the church there are blue clouds,
     A crows' cry...
     And pass - the color of ash and sand -
     Revolutionary troops... oh my
     Blue-blooded, my kingly angst!

     They don't have a face, don't have a name -
     Nobody sings!
     You got lost, the Kremlin ringing
     In this banner forest full of wind.
     Lie, Moscow, onto eternal sleep, and pray!



To Tsar, on Easter


     Open, Open,
     The gates of the tsar!
     Darkness dimmed and poured out far.
     With clean heat
     Burns the altar -
     Resurrect, Christ,
     Yesterday's tsar!

     Without glory fell
     Two-headed eagle.
     Tsar - you were wrong.

     He'll remember inheritance
     Many more times -
     Byzantine sacrilege
     Of your clear eyes.

     Your judges -
     Lightning and wave!
     Tsar! God sought
     You, not men.

     But now there's Easter
     In all the land,
     Sleep in your village
     With a calm mind,
     Don't dream of
     The banners red.

     Tsar! Descendants
     And ancestors - sleep.
     There is a knapsack since
     A throne you won't keep.



Stepan Razin



     1
     Winds have gone to sleep - with golden dawn,
     Night comes - with a mountain of stone,
     And with his princess from hot land
     Rests the rabid chieftain.

     Having gathered his youthful shoulders in a sack
     He listened, his forehead leaning back,
     How over his hot tent it thunders -
     Nightingale's thunder.


     2
     Over Volga - night,
     Over Volga - sleep...
     Ornate rugs they have laid down,
     And on them the chieftain has laid
     With a Persian princess - black brows.

     One can't see the stars, one can't hear the waves,
     Oars and darkness extreme, this is all!
     And the shuttle bears away into the chieftain's
     Night sinful Persian soul.

     And such a speech
     Did the night hear:
     Don't you want, at last,
     To lie nearer?
     Out of all our women

     You're the pearl!
     Am I this scary
     I'm your all-time slave,
     Persian girl!
     My prisoner!


     -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --
     And she knitted the brows,
     The long brows.
     And she eyes cast down
     Eyes Persian.
     And from her lips
     Only one sigh rings:
     Djal-Eddin.


     -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --
     And over Volga - a ruddy dawn,
     And over Volga - heaven.
     And the drunk crowd roars:
     Get up, chieftain!

     With a Muslim dog you did lie!
     See the tears in the beauty's eyes!

     And she - like death,
     Bit her mouth in blood.
     Thus goes a chieftain's brow so hard.

     This our bed, you dog, you did not want,
     So make do with our baptismal font!

     It's dark in the day,
     In the sky it is clear.
     Red is the shoe
     In the ship's rear.

     And like menacing oak stands Stepan,
     And to very lips pales Stepan.
     Ah, so tiring - it shakes, rocks!
     Hold up, heathens - in the eyes it's dark!

     Here to you is the Persian girl,
     The prisoner girl.


     3

     (DREAM OF RAZIN)
     And Razin dreams a dream:
     Like a cry of a heron of the swamp.
     And Razin dreams a ringing:
     Like silver droplets drop.

     And Razin dreams of the bottom:
     With flowers, like a kerchief, covered.
     And he dreams of one face -
     Forgotten, with black brows.

     He sits, like God's mother,
     Stringing pearls on a thread.
     And he wants to tell her,
     But only moves lips instead...

     The breath has been stifled - ah
     In the chest there is a glass chip.
     And the glass slope walks past them
     Like a guard who wants to sleep.


     -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --
     Down the Volga-river with
     The steering dawn drove he.
     Over just a single shoe
     Why did you leave me?

     Who will want a beauty
     In just one shoe?
     For the other shoe, friend,
     I will come to you!

     And rings, rings the bracelet: Drowned
     The happiness of Stepan!



x x x


     From a strict and elegant temple
     On the squealing of squares you alight.
     Freedom! The beautiful lady
     Of marquises and Russian knights.

     A dreadful rehearsal is on now -
     Still ahead is the mass!
     O freedom! The partying woman
     On the mad soldier's chest!



x x x


     Bitterness! On your lips, passion -
     Is eternal aftertaste!
     Bitterness! It is temptation
     For all times - to die at last.

     I from bitterness - am kissing
     Everyone who's young and sweet.
     You from bitterness - another
     By the hand at night do lead.

     With bread I eat, with water swallow
     Bitter woe, bitter sorrow.
     There is one such kind of grass,
     Mother Russia, on your meadows.



Carmen



     1
     Divine, childish-plain
     The dress is, and short to the plait.
     How the sides of a pyramid
     Rush sides from the belt.

     What big rings there are
     On the fingers little and dark!
     What big buckles there are
     On the tiny shoes!

     And people eat and argue,
     And people are playing cards.
     You do not know, players,
     What you have bet on the card!

     And she - she needs nothing!
     And she - she needs nothing!
     Here's my chest. Tear my heart out -
     Carmen - and drink my blood!


     2
     She stands, throwing back the throat,
     And bit the mouth in blood.
     And set the hand against bosom -
     The left one - where there is love.

     "On your knees!" - "What to you
     Are my knees that I should bend,
     Abbot?" With these words
     Her last night Carmen did end.



Gypsy Wedding


     Dirt flies
     From under the hooves.
     Shawl like a shield
     Over the face.
     Newlyweds, have fun
     Without the young!
     Eh, carry them out,
     Disheveled stallion!

     We didn't have freedom
     Under mother and dad,
     The whole field for us
     Is marital bed!
     Full without bread and without wine drunk -
     Thus the gypsy wedding does run!

     Full is the glass.
     Empty is the glass.
     Guitar sound, dirt and moon.
     To right and to left swings the den.
     Gypsy - to knight!
     To gypsy - knight!
     Hey mister, careful - it burns!
     Thus drinks gypsy wedding!

     There, on the shawls'
     And fur-coats' heap
     There's ringing and rustling
     Of steel and lips.
     Ringing of spurs,
     Necklaces - in return.
     Silk has whistled
     Under someone's hand.
     Someone has howled like a wolf,
     Someone like a bull is snoring.
     Thus sleeps the gypsy wedding.



x x x


     The first day I recall, ferocity of childhood,
     Exhaustion and the darkness of the gulp divine,
     The carelessness of arms, the heartlessness of heart,
     That fell onto the chest, like hawk, like stone.

     And now - this time - trembling from heat and pity,
     One: to howl like wolf, one: to the feet to fall,
     To cast down - understand - penalty for sensuality
     Is cruel love and passion terrible.



x x x


     Night. North-East. The soldiers cry. Waves roar.
     They bombed a wine warehouse. Along the walls,
     Through ditches, runs a precious torrent
     And in it dances bloody moon.

     The trunks of the poplars are mad.
     Mad also in the night, birds sing.
     Empty, yesterday's monument to the tsar,
     And over the tsar's monument - the night.

     The harbor drinks, the barracks drink. The world is ours!
     Ours is the wine in cellars of the knights!
     The whole city, stomping just like bulls,
     Falling to murky puddle on the road - drinks.

     In cloud of wine - there is the moon. Who's here?
     You beauty, be a comrade, drink!
     And in the city there's a happy rumour,
     That somewhere two have drowned in the wine.



x x x


     Strong and wealthy have a hard time,
     It is hard to all the lords.
     I won't lower the light eyes
     A red soldier before.

     City's moaning and carousing,
     Moon in cloud made of wine.
     Not a living soul will touch me:
     Poor and arrogant am I.



Kornilov


     A Cossack, a Cossack's son...
     Thus the speech has begun.
     Homeland. Darkness. Foe.
     Everyone's heads fall down.

     Sound alarm, priests.
     "There's no food." "Good."
     Not a day should be lost!
     A soldier must
     Clean the horse...



To Moscow





     1
     You did not bend the shoulders, when the red-haired
     Impostor seized you and for you did reach.
     Where is your pride, you baroness? Your blush,
     You beauty? Brilliant girl, your speech?

     Like Tsar Peter, the law of sons despising,
     Did lust with avarice after your head -
     You answered to the Tsar of Russia truly
     As baroness Morozova on the sled.

     The fiery drink was not at all forgotten
     By lips of Bonapart that were so cold.
     The sides of Kremlin all things will endure.
     In your cathedral not the first time stands a stall.


     2
     The thief Grishka did not make you Polish,
     The Tsar Peter did not make you German.
     "What're you doing, little dove?" "I'm crying."
     "Where, Moscow, is your pride?" "It's gone."

     "Where are all your doves?" "There is no feed."
     "Who bore him away?" "The raven black."
     "Where are all your holy crosses?" "Torn down."
     "Where are your sons, Moscow?" "Killed."


     3
     Liquid ringing, meager ringing.
     To all sides I'm curtsying.

     Cry of infant, cow's roar.
     The tsar's daring word.

     Lashes' whistling, snow full of blood.
     The dark word of Love.

     The pigeons' quiet noise.
     The Shooter's black eyes.



x x x


     In vain, Cavalier de Grie,
     Do you dream of the full of beauty,
     Autocratic - her self not ruling -
     Your voluptuous Manon.

     From your rooms we are succeeding
     In a flock tired and willing.
     They recall us not past the evening.
     Be obedient - such is the law.

     We are coming in from night stormy,
     We really need nothing from you,
     Except supper - and pearls we need from you
     And maybe one more thing - your soul!

     Honor and duty, Cavalier - convention it is.
     Let God give you a regiment of mistresses!
     Showing a readiness in all this.
     Passionately loving you
     - M.



x x x


     Standing for homeland, word "Marina"
     Within your cutlass you did draft.
     In your magnificent existence
     I was your first one and your last.

     A night and pre-dawn I remember
     In hell of the soldiers' rail car.
     In chest I keep the shoulder pieces
     And in the wind I rush my hair.



Don



     1
     White army, your way's a high one:
     Temple and chest - to the black gun.

     White and divine is your cause:
     Your white body - into the sand.

     Not a flock of swans in the sky:
     The sacred white army
     Melts, melts with white sight..

     The last dream of the old world:
     Youth - Valour - Vandea - Don.


     2
     Who has survived will die, who has died will arise.
     And now descendants, remember the times long gone:
     Where were you? The question will roar like thunder,
     Like thunder will roar the answer: On the Don!

     "What did you do" "We were accepting torments,
     Then grew tired and to sleep had gone.
     And in the dictionary the thoughtful grandsons
     Before the word "duty" will write the word "Don."


     3
     Waves and youth - outside the law!
     Don has moved - we die - we drown.
     We ask the wind of time to bear
     To grandsons a wicked rumour:

     Yes! Broke the Don's ice!
     The white army - Yes! - died.
     But with children and wives parting,
     But on Don departing,

     With a white flock flying onto the block,
     We died for one thing: Huts!

     On the last church having baptized,
     White army - for centuries.



x x x


     Hard and marvelous - loyalty till the coffin!
     Tsar-like luxury in squares' time!
     Firm are the souls and ribs are firm likewise
     Where are you, people of days gone by?

     With ash equating altar and the throne,
     Like a red-haired Tatar the freedom prowls.
     Over the ashtrays at the table there's
     Fugitive soldiers' and faithless wives' growl.



x x x


     O, pitiful exertions of usurpers!
     Like sleep, like snow, like death, to all - a shrine.
     A ban on Kremlin! There's no ban on wings, and
     Therefore - there is no ban upon Kremlin.



x x x


     Either soldiers drove into the ground a stake,
     Either they covered a face with a red rag,
     Either deaf and dumb from punches is the Divine,
     Either on Easter they were banned from Kremlin -

     Old revelers should sit at the linen,
     Birds should crawl, fish should sing, women - reason,
     Horse on a horseman should ride out wild,
     Wine should be given a newborn child,

     Corpses carried out the window, rivers - burn,
     In the midnight must arise the red sun,
     The groom should the betrothed's name forget..

     Ladies should love peasants yet.



x x x


     Like blood and sweat it is simple:
     To people - tsar, to tsar - people.

     Like mystery of two it is clear:
     The third is the spirit, the two are near.

     From the sky tsar is placed on the throne:
     That is clear like dream and snow.

     To the throne tsar will come again yet:
     It is holy like blood and sweat.



x x x


     The rich man loved a poor woman,
     The scientist loved a dumb woman,
     The ruddy man loved a pale woman,
     The kind man loved a bad woman,
     And the gold a copper coin.

     "Where, merchant, is your wealth all?"
     "In a wallet that's full of holes!"

     "Where, proud one, is what you know?"
     "Under a girl's pillow."

     "Where are your red cheeks, gorgeous sight?"
     "Whitened down in the black night."

     "Where is the cross with silver chain?"
     "Under the girl's boots again."

     Rich man don't love a poor woman,
     Scientist don't love a dumb woman,
     Ruddy man don't love a pale woman,
     Kind man don't love a bad woman,
     And the gold a copper coin.



x x x


     I'm - now. You're - will be. An abyss between us.
     I drink. You're thirsty. We cannot agree.
     Ten years, oh no, a hundred thousand years
     Do stand between us. God does not build bridges.

     Be! - this is my demand. Let me walk past you
     Without violating growth with my breath.
     I'm - now. You're - will be. In ten springs from now
     You will say "is!" - and I will say "sometime"...



x x x


     Dying, I won't say: I was. There's no pity,
     The culprits I don't seek.
     There are more important things on earth
     Than passions' storms and the lovers' feats.

     Beating against this bosom with a wing,
     You, the youthful inspiration's culprit,
     I demand this of you: Be!
     From obedience I will not flit.



x x x


     Like right and left arms, here,
     Your soul to my soul is near.

     In bliss and warmth we to each other cling
     Like right wing and left wing.

     But whirlwind rises - and lay the abyss
     From left to right between the wings!



x x x


     Inept and aimless is my time:
     I ask a beggar for a dime
     I proffer cash to rich and famous,

     Into the needle ray I weave,
     Unto a robber key I give,
     With whiting I am blushing paleness.

     The bum puts nothing in my palms,
     The rich man does not take my alms,
     The needle won't let through the ray,

     The robber enters without key,
     Dumb woman weeps in streams of three
     Over a fameless, empty day.



x x x


     Who didn't build homes with his hand
     Does not merit the land.

     Who the homes did not build
     The earth will not be:
     Ash - Straw..

     I did not build the home.



x x x


     Cradle, that is wound up in red!
     Cradle, that is rocked by the rabble!
     Soldiers' thunder - by the evening - past the temples..
     And beautiful will grow up the kid.

     With the milk of wet nurse of Ryazan
     He sucked in inheritance's good:
     Flag - and the tri-unity of God.
     Russian anthem - and space Russian.

     In the needed day, by clear sun of God,
     Duty he'll recall daughters and noble -
     Cradle, that is rocked by the rabble!
     Cradle, that is wound up in red!



x x x


     I don't disturb, I do not sing
     With a woman's poison. Hand
     That is loyal I give to you -
     Right one, that will hold the pen.

     That, with which I form the cross
     In the beauty of the night.
     That, with which the things that God
     Did command to me I write.

     My left hand is daring,
     Flattering and also sly.
     Here to you the righteous
     And right hand do proffer I.



From Cycle "Comedian"



     1
     It's not love, but fever! Light
     Battle's sly and full of lies.
     Now it's nauseous, next day sweet,
     Now he's dead, next day alive.

     Battle rages. Both are laughing:
     How intelligent are they!
     By both heroine and hero
     I am charmed in every way.

     Viewer, a battle - or a dance now?
     This a sword - or cattle stick?
     Step ahead - three steps back now,
     Three steps forward - one step back.

     Mouth like honey, in the eyes, trust,
     But already raised, the brow.
     It's hypocrisy, not love now,
     It is acting, and not love!

     And result of these (parentheses -
     Uncommitted so far) sins -
     Will be of astounding poems
     A stack oh-so-very thin.


     2
     You can't be friends with me, you can't be loving me!
     O beautiful eyes, look carefully!

     A longboat has to sail, and the mill has to turn.
     Is it for you to stop a heart as it whirls?

     The notebook by the hand - you a mister won't be!
     Is it not enough to sigh at comedy?

     The cross of love is heavy - and we won't touch it.
     Yesterday's day is gone - and we will keep it.


     3
     Your mouth is perfect for kisses, so tender..
     And this is it, I am totally like a beggar.
     Who am I now? Alone? No, many more!
     A conqueror? A conquest, no!

     If this be love - or if this be adoring,
     A pen's caprice - or else an axiom,
     If this be torment for the angels' home -
     Or little bit of pretense by calling.

     Sadness of soul, charming of eyes, or
     The script of pen - is not the same it all,
     How and until these lips will call
     Your mouth, perfect for kisses, so tender.


     4
     You do not hope - how I am merry!
     They're dull after the revelry.
     You are the mister, I - the lady.
     And mainly I am just like thee!

     Don't be deceived! By evil chill
     Within the throat you yourself know
     That for your lips I had become
     Just from the hills of Champagne, foam.

     There are revelries full of gold.
     And just is this my revelry:
     Without the syrup of love's truth -
     Champagne of love's lies only.



From Cycle "Poems to Sonya"



     1
     Who has left - let him sing! Heart,
     Sing away!
     Now the ruddy mouth is mine,
     Yours - next day.

     Ah, but everyone is friend
     Of rose-beauty.
     There are many such like you
     And like me.

     Friend will tear from a friend
     Flower rose -
     Rose can be torn apart: there's
     Nothing worse.

     Over the pink mouth to fight
     Rather than -
     Better is to kiss the boy
     In his turn!

     Hundred girlfriends has the friend -
     We're all here.
     While he is not taken yet
     Do love him.


     2
     In the forest a bird chirped,
     Under window, organ grinder.
     "You're a liar, traitor,
     You're a traitor, liar."

     In the chorus sang
     Devils from a barrel:
     "All of you, my girl,
     I sold for a dime."

     Cows in the grass:
     "You are having amoo-ours!"
     Sheepdogs in an alley:
     "Fool, aurs, aurs."

     Lady with a beard
     Thought herself to drown:
     "That is nothing, babe!
     Water'll bear you down!"

     Comb your hair now,
     Wash out your clear eyes.
     One dear threw you down
     And another'll raise!


     3
     The rain is knocking at my window.
     The worker creaks at the machine.
     I truly once was a street singer
     And you were a nobleman's son.

     I sang about the evil fortune,
     And from the golden handrail
     You gave not ruble and not kopeck -
     You gave me as a gift a smile.

     But the old knight the plan discovered:
     He tore the medals from his son
     And to servant-lackey he did order
     To chase the girl from the yard.

     And I got drunk within that night, too!
     But in the blissful world - that -
     I was the daughter of a nobleman
     You were a singer on the street.



x x x


     You won't chase me away anytime:
     They don't push away the spring!
     I too tenderly sing before sleep:
     With a finger you won't push away me!

     Never will you make me glorious:
     Water for lips is my name!
     You will never leave me either:
     Door is open, empty is your home!



x x x


     To rule troika and guitar
     Means: to rule each ever
     Lady, means: with old beer
     To circle overhead!
     O handsome one! Halfbreed!
     Who baptized you? In what font?
     All the gypsy snowstorms
     Opened up your vest
     O the brave guitarist!
     Eh, I fear - your strings and hollows
     Will discard me down to lie!
     God be with you, driver Sergei!
     Women are Russia and I!



x x x


     That same youth, and these same holes,
     And the same nights at the fire..
     Sister of your own guitar
     Is my divine, holy lyre.

     To circle souls just like a snowstorm -
     One is the gift that us befalls.
     Into my sleeping crib is lowered
     This title: Stealer of the souls!

     Breaking the arms in angst, you know:
     Not one alone in the day's fog
     With poison gypsy broth of parting
     The young noblemen you do drug.

     Know: not alone on the sharp knife
     You look with anguish in your blood
     Know, I'm alone still.. we're sisters
     In the great lowliness of love.



x x x


     Who's made of stone, who's made of mud,
     And I'm made from silver and shine.
     My act is betrayal, my name is Marina,
     The fragile sea foam am I.

     Who is made from mud, who is made from flesh -
     There's coffin and coffin plates..
     Baptized in a sea font and unceasingly
     Broken in my flight!

     Through every heart, through every net
     Will poke its head my will.
     You will not make me the salt of the earth
     Can you see these my loose curls?

     I resurrect with each wave, pounding
     Against your granite knees!
     May be well the foam - the high foam -
     The high foam of the seas!



x x x


     I wrote on paled leaves of the fan
     And on the board of slate
     And on the river and sea sand,
     On glass with a ring and on ice with skates -

     And on the trunks, a hundred winters old,
     And in the end - that everyone would know
     That you are loved! Loved! Loved! Loved! -
     I signed with a celestial rainbow.

     How yet I wanted this, that each would bloom
     For centuries with me! My fingers under!
     And how thereafter I crossed out the name
     Leaning my forehead on the table yonder.

     But you, within the arm of sellout scribe
     Pressed down! You, why you sting my soul?
     Not sold by me! Inside the ring!
     You - in the tablets will stay whole.



Two Songs



     1
     And what to tome is a chilled fire,
     To whom the parting is a trade!
     With one wave it has been brought near,
     Removed with yet another wave.

     Would I not with a servile anger
     After my dear with a crawl creep -
     I, borne to term within the belly
     Not of my mother but the sea!

     Bite, my dear friend, just like an apple
     The entire sphere of the earth!
     Conversing with a swelling water,
     With me however you converse.

     Like virgin born upon this planet
     Won't cross the arms swinging free -
     Daughter, carried within the belly
     Not of your mother but the sea!

     No, our girls do not weep, do not
     Write, do not wait for news, yet
     No, once again I go out fishing
     Without drag-net, without a net!

     What power is in my singing -
     I alone do not know, you see -
     I, borne to term within the belly
     Not of my mother but the sea.

     Such is my estate: I give
     And give - for a whole century!
     I am breaking my chest as I'm breaking
     The stones that on the shore do lie!

     What I mumble on a court simple,
     As though an imprisoned queen -
     I, borne to term in the belly
     Not of my mother but the sea.


     2
     Yesterday you looked in my eyes,
     And all things slant aside right now!
     Yesterday you sat before birds
     And now all larks turn into crows!

     I'm dumb, and you are very smart,
     You live, I'm stupefied, I hear.
     O cry of women of all times:
     "What have I done to you, my dear?!"

     Tears are to her like water, blood -
     Like water, washed in blood, in tears!
     Don't wait for trial or mercy: love
     Is stepmother, not Mom, it's clear.

     Ships bear away the ones we love,
     A white road them away now bears...
     And stands the moan across all earth:
     "What have I done to you, my dear?"

     Yesterday you lay at my feet!
     Compared to China! When both hands
     You forced apart from fists to palms
     Life fell out like a rusty cent!

     At trial, as killer of a child
     I stand - not dear, and full of fear.
     And I will say to you in hell:
     "What have I done to you, my dear?"

     I'll ask the chair, I'll ask the bed:
     "Why do I suffer and am poor?"
     They answer "He has kissed - now break
     Upon the wheel; now kiss one more."

     To live he taught in fire itself,
     He threw on icy steppes, austere!
     What did you, dear, do to me?
     What have I done to you, my dear?

     I know all - do not contradict!
     Seeing anew - no more the lover!
     Where love no longer does exist,
     There Death the gardener comes over.

     Itself - why shake the tree? In time
     Ripe apple falls itself, you near.
     For all, for all forgive me please,
     What have I done to you, my dear!



x x x


     Wind, Oh wind, sweeping away things,
     Sweeping tracks until they're gone!
     Like a red bird flying, flying
     Into foreheads of white stone.

     Like a long-legged dog delving
     Through the oat-bearing plains.
     Wind, that loses his own mind
     At a skirt that's made of lace!

     It's a purple epidemic,
     The first missive of revolt -
     Wind - gallows-bird, flighty man -
     In my fist you I now hold!

     Play no more on turbid places,
     Heads across the snow don't beat -
     You are bound in my neckerchief
     By your hands and by your feet!

     We will settle obligations
     For your not-so-careful deeds -
     Wind inside red leather coat
     With a star upon the head!



x x x


     I desire no love and no honor:
     They intoxicate - no falling away!
     I don't even desire an apple
     Tempting - from hawker's tray..

     Something drags behind me like chain,
     Soon the thunder will sound in the sky...

     How I desire -
     Oh how I desire -
     Very quietly simply to die!



x x x


     Others - with eyes or with face full of light,
     And I converse with wind in the night.
     Not with that Italian
     Zephyr oh-so-young -
     Russian, blow-through,
     A good one, a wide one!

     Others with all flesh are in the flesh lost,
     Swallow the breath from dried out lips...
     And I - arms wide open - like tetanus - stall
     So that the Russian wind blow out my soul!

     Others - o tangles tender and strong!
     No, Aeolus is doing us wrong.
     Perhaps you won't melt! It's just one family
     As if I am not a woman truly.



x x x


     June and July. Part of nightingale tremble.
     And we had something of a bird's way, when
     The night of the nightingale then disturbing
     We - each over ourselves - were frozen.

     August is tsar. It cares not for a roulade,
     It only wants October cannonade.
     August is tsar. You do not need the tsars,
     And I without the tsar such ones do not need!



x x x


     There's officer's straightness within my stature,
     There's officer's honor within my ribs.
     I go to all torments without being stubborn:
     A soldier's patience there is!

     As if we had corrected this step
     Sometime with a butt and with steel...
     Not in vain, not in vain the Cherkessian waist
     And the tight buckle of belt.

     My dear father! Open the gates of heaven
     With a storm - when the dawn I sense!
     As if deliberately for the hike bag
     The width of the shoulders.

     All can - some insane cripple over the cradle
     Has sung me a song... From this day
     Something persisted, remained and is here:
     I take the word - and take aim!

     And thus does my heart over Russian Republic
     Screech - you can feed, or no way! -
     As if I myself had been officer also
     In deadly October days.



Wolf


     Then a friendship, now a duty.
     Brother wolf, God be with you!
     Our friendship is now dying:
     I'm not gift but debt for you.

     Disturb a verst with a verst,
     Send a verst into a verst!
     I have petted on a fur -
     And I have been missing angst!

     I'm not making you a villain -
     It's not your guilt, it is my sin:
     With my insatiability
     I am feeding everyone!

     To go after you with silicon
     Fire in forest - thus judged Lord -
     Girls are jealous of just one thing:
     That the paws would not grow cold.

     To hold - I won't move a finger:
     Finger - not pole, great is wood.
     Take away with you your gray spots,
     Brother fang, be with you God!

     Fare thee well, I won't remember
     In my dreams, you, O gray hide!
     To believe in the wolf's grayness
     One more idiot you will find.



To a Stranger


     Your banners - not mine!
     Our heads apart.
     Not to betray in the Snake's vice
     My Pigeon - Spirit.

     Not to start in a red round dance
     Around a May tree.
     Higher than all earthly gates
     Are heaven's gates to me.

     Your victories - and not mine!
     Others in hallucination!
     We aren't on two ends of the Earth -
     On two constellations!

     What am I doing - we're jealous
     Of two different stars -
     I, throwing over the bridge
     With a brave arm?!

     Treasure more precious than the icons
     I have with me.
     There is another law, covering
     The laws - you hear?

     Before him all wedges incline,
     Dim precious stones.
     The law of a stretched-out arm,
     Flung open soul.

     And we'll be judged with the same
     Measure, know.
     And heaven in which I believe
     Will take us both.



x x x


     O love! O love! In the convulsions, in the coffin,
     I'll be on guard - entice - worry - and tear.
     Not in the snow mound of the coffin, nor a snow mound
     Of cloud, I will part with you, O my dear.

     And not for this are given to me gorgeous
     Two wings that weight upon my heart would lie.
     Pathetic village of the eyeless, voiceless,
     And swaddled I will never multiply.

     No, I wheedle the arms! Your sturdy body
     From out your cloth I'll beat out with one blow,
     Death! For a thousand kilometers all around
     The wood is burned and melted is the snow.

     And if still - shoulders, wings, knees pressing -
     I let you to the churchyard drive me -
     It is so that, laughing over the ashes,
     I'll rise like poem - or like rose bloom free!


     x x x
     Either at dawn or at dusk, I will die, but on which
     One of the two - can't be told from the orders, I know.
     Ah, could it be that my torch could go out twice again!
     At the same time at dusk and at dawn it would go!

     Heaven's daughter! With a full apron of roses! Not a sprout
     Violating! Went through earth in a dancing gait!
     I'll die at dusk or at dawn, this I know! God won't send
     After my soul like a swan the hawk-like night!

     Driving away the unkissed cross with a tender hand,
     In the kind sky I will seek the last greeting, I know it.
     Slit of the dawn - and the slit of a smile in response...
     Even in hiccup of death I will still be a poet!


     x x x
     Happy New Year, encampment Swan!
     Ruins so glorious!
     Happy New Year - in other places -
     Knapsack-bearing warriors!

     Dances, mouth foaming, not caught up,
     The pursuit in red!
     Happy New Year - beaten in the races
     Homeland with a hand!

     The whole Earth sings with a toast song
     To the earth do lean!
     Thus, Igor - with Yaroslav is crying
     Russia over the sea.

     With a tired moan it quenches sorrow:
     My brother! My knight! My son!
     Happy New Year, you across the blue sea
     Russia oh-so-young.



Student



     To say - to be thoughtful of what?
     In rain - under one coat,
     At night - under one coat, later
     To grave - under one coat.


     1
     To be your light-haired little fellow -
     Oh, through all years! -
     To drape a student behind your dusty purple
     In cloak severe.

     To catch through people's density your sigh
     That life does give
     With soul that lives with your breath, like a cloak
     With blowing wind.

     More victorious than King David, with shoulder
     The crowd to move.
     To serve from all slights, all earthly slights
     As cloak to you.

     To be he who between the sleeping students
     In sleep won't dream.
     A shield, and not a cloak, at the first stone
     That crowd brought in.

     (This verse's not stopped willfully! The knife is
     Sharp to no end!)
     And - with inspired smile - to be the first your
     Fire to ascend.


     2
     There is an hour - just like discarded clothes:
     When in ourselves the pride we quench in full.
     The hour of study, it in every life is
     Triumphant-unavoidable.

     The high hour, when, before the feet of one with finger
     Appointed, our weapons laying down,
     We change the purple of the warrior
     On sand into the camel's down.

     Like voice that rises us to our exertion
     From self-will of the days, behold this hour!
     Behold this hour when we are leaning down
     From heaviness just like a ripe corn ear.

     And ear grew up, and beat the happy hour,
     And for the millstone did thirst the grain.
     The law! The law! Still in the womb of earth
     The burden I desired does remain.

     The hour of study! But beheld and known
     Is different light - the dawn still burns, still burns.
     Blessed to him are you, following behind him
     The supreme hour of loneliness!


     3
     Evening sun is kinder than
     Sun at noon.
     Screams fanatically, not warms
     Sun at noon.

     Meeker, more aloof is the sun
     At night. Wise,
     It does not want to beat
     In our eyes.

     Stirring with its simplicity
     Made for kings,
     Dearer is evening sun
     To one who sings.


     -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --
     Crucified by darkness
     Each evening,
     Evening sun does not bow
     To the throng.

     Thebe, remember! He, cast down
     From the throne.
     He, cast down - looks above
     Not below.

     O, don't wait upon the neighboring
     Bell tower!
     I want to be your final
     Bell tower.


     4
     The wooden load
     Below waves fell.
     Two eternal ones quietly
     Ascended the hill.

     Tightly - shoulder to shoulder -
     They stand, don't talk.
     Two breaths are walking
     Under one cloak.

     The leader of yesterday's and
     Today's sleeping wars
     Silently stand by
     The double black tower.

     They stand wiser than serpents,
     Milder than doves.
     Father, take me back into
     Your life above!

     Smoke of the wars of the Lord
     Across the sky.
     Struggles the cloak, raised
     With double sigh.

     Prays and trembles, jealousy
     Eats out the sight...
     Father, take me into sunset,
     Into your night!

     Breathe deserts, they celebrate
     The night's entry...
     Son falls like a ripe fruit
     Heavily.

     Quiet is the human flock
     Within its fold.
     Calm are the two alit
     On hill of gold.


     5
     We were like ancient ones, the hour
     Was wonderful and full.
     We side by side ascended up
     The hill, I do recall.

     The speech of the cascading streams
     Has wound fancily
     With cloak, falling on the shoulders
     In a wave gracefully.

     The final gold of the heights
     Is higher, higher yet.
     The dreaming voice: The sunrise that
     Comes out to meet sunset.


     6
     All magnificence of
     Pipes - is but murmur of
     Grass - before you.

     All magnificence of
     Storms - is but chatter of
     Birds - before you.

     All magnificence of
     Wings - is but patter of
     Eyelids - before you.


     7
     On the hills - round and tan,
     Under the ray - dusty and strong,
     With a boot - meek and mild -
     After the cloak - reddened and torn.

     On the sands - greedy and rusty,
     Under ray - burning and drinking,
     With a boot - meek and mild -
     After the cloak - with trace and trace.

     On the waves - angry and blown-up,
     Under the ray - wrathful and ancient,
     With a boot - meek and mild -
     After the cloak - lying and lying...



Marina



     1
     His dove to be, like an eagle!
     More than a mother to be, Marina!
     A messenger - a guard - a courier -

     A flag-bearer - flatterer of the court!
     With a seraph and dog to guard
     A sleep restless and full of fear.

     Taking a pack of sallow cards for a game,
     Legs in stirrup! - through water and flame!
     Where on horse - where to swim - where to crawl!

     By the swamp - by the willows - by the reeds -
     And where horse does not take - fly, all winds
     Having captured in your shawl!

     In a black noiseless whirlwind flying,
     Not a lady - a handy, I am!
     Not to be sole - the second!

     A twin - a double - slender
     Godbrother in flame of bonfire,
     To be his crooked friend.

     Clamor of Kremlin's uninvited guests.
     If Basmanov is your name, set
     Aside - yield before love!

     Threw open a chest kerchief, I.
     Arms wide open! That on Judgment Day
     Will not stand in Basmanov's blood.


     2
     Three usurpers' wife,
     Daughter of arrogant Mnishka,
     You did not birth a son
     To your husband so proud.

     In bare-headed sleep
     In resounding window flight
     You did not wave a trace
     To your husband so proud.

     On the square full of fate
     From spits and boxes on ear
     You did not cover with body
     Your own husband so proud.

     In a foolish mask lay,
     With bloody pipe in the mouth.
     You did not wipe the sweat
     Of your husband so proud.

     Oh the treacherous blood!
     Be accursed, be accursed.
     You that to false Dimitry was false Marina!


     3
     Heart, betrayal!
     But never parting!
     And the tan arm of the thief
     To the white lips.

     Short concussion of bones on the plates.
     Gregory! Dimitry!
     Tsar-killers! Blood and fluff!
     And - with the second jump -
     On the spears!


     4
     "Your chest is redolent,
     Just like a rosemary trunk...
     A most honorable lady..."
     "My young honored one..."

     "I'm dark, unrecognized, quiet...
     With what shall I repay...
     From underneath the eyelids
     Something, "With life!" did say.

     In every chased-down stranger
     We are serving Jesus Sir.
     Mangles in mangled confusion
     Handful of genuine pearls.

     Pearls have been sprinkled - like tears!
     Aiming with every eyelash,
     He sees, while stranger picks up
     Them, as if fidgeting in ash.



From Cycle "Parting"



     2
     So long ago thrown down
     I raise the arms.
     In empty black window
     Empty arms
     I throw in the midnight beating
     Of hours - to go home
     I want! Thus: head down
     From the tower! Home!
     In whisper and rustle:
     Not on the stone of a square...
     My wing was shot
     By some young warrior.


     2
     More sharply, more sharptly
     Your arms do twist!
     Between us are heavenly
     Rivers - not versts,
     Between us are parting's lands azure,
     Where forever inseparable
     Are I and you.

     In silver harness
     The highway runs.
     I don't twist the arms!
     Without sound
     I only pull them
     Like mountain-ash waves
     Into the parting,
     Into the stork flock's trace.

     Without looking back
     The stork flock aspires,
     Conceit I won't doff!
     In death - well-attired
     I'll be - your golden-feathered speed is
     The final bulwark
     In loss of space!


     3
     With a dark olive
     Hide head of bed,
     Jealous of earthly
     Love are the gods.

     Every rustle
     And whisper they hear.
     Know, not just to you
     The youth is dear.

     Someone is mad at
     Luxury of May.
     Be careful of
     The sharp-eyed sky.


     -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --
     That rocks and cliffs
     Lure him, you claim,
     That copper-voiced
     Call of fame

     Lures him - to depth,
     Chest on the spear?
     The rising wave
     Drowns him - you conjure?

     Sting of the fortune
     Pierced - you see?
     Deeper than disgrace
     Is tsar's mercy.

     That you wander late in the
     Low lands you shed tears.
     Invisible, not the
     Earth-born you should fear.

     On sight of the comb
     To them is each hair.
     Gods have a thousand
     Eyes to spare.

     Fear not the quicksand -
     Fear sky's blue!
     Insatiable
     Is heart of Zeus.


     4
     Quietly
     With an arm careful and thin
     I'll untangle the tangles:
     Arms - and with neighing
     Obedient, will rustle the amazon
     On empty and resounding steps of parting.

     Stomps his feet and neighs
     In the lit flight the winged one. In the eyes -
     Flaming of dawn.
     Little arms, little arms!
     You call in vain:
     The staircase of Lethe pours them between.


     5
     Big you won't see,
     You won't see me gray.
     You won't press the tears
     From motionless eyes.

     For all of your torment.
     Crying is the battle:
     Put down your arm!
     Leave the mantle!

     In apathy's
     Stone-eyed cameo
     Like mother I won't
     Tarry in the door:
     (With heaviness of
     Blood, knees, eye -
     In the final earthly
     Time!)

     Not with a crawling wounded beast
     No, with a lump of rock
     To leave the door -
     From life. What for
     Do the tears pour,
     When the stone is lifted
     From shoulders of yours?

     Not a stone! Already
     With an eagle's width
     Is the cloak! And already by river of azure
     Into the city of light, where
     The mother
     To take her kid
     Would not dare.


     [6]
     With silver growth
     He tore up and away.
     That Zeus would not
     See him -
     Pray!

     At the first rustle
     Be fearful and stand.
     They're jealous of
     Beauty of man.

     Their call is scarier
     Than jaw of a beast.
     Jealous of beauty
     Is the gods' nest.

     With flowers, with laurels
     They'll lure up and away.
     That Zeus would not
     Choose him -
     Pray!

     In thunder of eagles'
     Wings is the sky.
     With all chest shatter -
     That you won't hide.

     In eagles' thunder -
     O beak! O blood!
     The tiny lamb
     Is hanging - Love..

     Bare-headed,
     With chest - prostate..
     That Zeus would not
     Raise him -
     Pray!


     [7]
     Your......features
     Imprinted once begun.
     I'll become older, and you
     Will remain still young.

     Your......features,
     Sharpened by burning wind.
     I'll be hunched over, and you
     Will elegantly stand.

     Midday shade of the hair,
     That to my gray spots lean...
     My age, day to day, year to year,
     Will eventually become my son...

     Together we were thirty-six
     A beautiful pair we were...
     And - with a rainbow - a good news:
     .................. - I won't be old!


     [8]
     The final beauty,
     Last heaviness yet:
     The child, hitting palms
     At my feet.

     But this final beauty
     I'll take care of no less
     And I'll throw down this
     Last heaviness.
     . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
     Stinging with inspired
     Women's flattery,
     As if not a teen but
     A lover at the feet -

     About the wanderings -
     Along the amazed Universe
     Under the laurel rain,
     Under the oak rain.

     The beauty final,
     The heaviness final -
     The child, the cloak grasping..
     In torment born! When you'll tell the people
     That there was no equal
     In art of parting!



George



     1
     Eyelashes, eyelashes
     Bowing down.
     With the shame of eyelashes
     Eclipsed - suns in the arrows' crown!
     How clear and how loud!
     And his cloak was red
     And white was his stallion.

     Embarrassed is the rider,
     Proud is the stallion.
     On the dead serpent
     The whitest stallion
     Looks in half-turn.
     In half-window wide
     A spear behind
     Into the red jaw - blowing the nostrils something wild -
     With slanting fiery-eyed.

     The rider's embarrassed,
     The horse comes down.
     The deceased serpent's
     Accursed blood -
     Amber - with light gait
     Avoids - the amber blood flows
     Froze with a raised hoof - from the heights
     Of the swan turn.

     Meek is the horseman,
     Fastidious is the horse.
     The rattling serpent
     With a spear having pierced -
     Since you're modest and languid!
     In the winds - up high - is the heart of yours,
     At the river edge - the spear of yours
     Now sings at the waxen fingers
     At the pink lips
     Under cover of arrows
     Of eyelashes,
     Sings, shouts. -
     O fearful heaviness
     Of deeds done!
     And his cloak is red
     And white is his stallion.

     The lovely horseman
     Awake, stallion!
     The tender horseman
     Has a chest pain.
     Threads the pearls with eyelashes...
     The holy icon - is face of yours,
     With sunset ray - the spear of yours
     From long fingers splashes.
     Does he mow down with a spear
     The ray purple?
     Or the red cloud
     Rises like mantle?
     The white house.
     He will be
     Let in
     With the horse.

     The horseman leans,
     The horse stands on hind legs.
     The palm around the spearman is weaker.
     Now he will bring victory!
     Stirs - moves - and after the spear
     Into the amber puddle - after the horse
     That slipped away.
     The base sweep
     Of arrows...

     Red is the mantle, white is the horse.


     2
     O heaviness of success!
     Slight of victory!
     George, you cry,
     Like a beautiful lady
     You pale at the deed
     Of your two
     Suddenly alien to you
     Hands.

     Horse is squeamish of the serpent,
     You are squeamish of the voice
     Of victory. With heavy oil
     The blood pours.
     The dragon sleeps.
     Full for all your life
     You are.

     The sun is eclipsed
     By the lifted mantle.
     Union, child's bashfulness
     With the dignity of
     Horse.
     From the saddle -
     Into the sky -
     Bush.
     Fastidious sorrow
     Of lips.

     Horse is squeamish of the serpent,
     You are squeamish of the present
     Of the tsar - her engagement fire.
     Of the church frankincense;
     Strict - harsh -
     In the pitiless
     Roar of
     Pipes.

     Trumpet! Trumpet!
     It's not long left to hear.
     The tender victory reed - away.
     The one out-piped away
     Drooped - went quiet.
     And cloudy - above! -
     Post.

     Bow, bow,
     Obedient grass!
     Reddened under the slap of glory -
     Pales. - Home, trumpeters! - He sleeps.
     Until the judgment trumpet -
     Is full.


     3
     Celestial glow
     And blue versts!
     Glory George
     The Victorious!

     Pearly branches
     Of midnight, proclaim
     The clean youth
     The marvelous man:

     His fiery mantle,
     His spear's song
     Glory the blood-boiling
     Stallion.


     -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --
     O great masts
     And each proud village!
     Glory the thundering-
     Boiling George!

     In strength and in meekness
     Like sun he'd be.
     Honor of honor,
     Luxury's luxury.

     His towering height,
     His spear's song,
     Glory his lightning-tailed
     Stallion!

     Winds of the lion
     And mass of the church!
     Glory the
     Magnificent George!

     Having killed the serpent,
     Over death having won,
     Entering his lady's home
     On a stallion!

     His great momentum,
     His spear's song,
     Glory his transformed
     Stallion!


     -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --
     Flattering willows
     And leaning grass,
     The freedom-loving
     And full of class

     Youth - glory,
     Youth - bemoan...
     Here is he, on the grass
     That is warrior of heaven:

     His pink mouth
     Its two halves there are -
     Couldn't bear victory
     The victory-bearer.


     4
     The feathers from the clouds nodding away...
     How your arrogance to convey,
     George! Creature of powers of heaven!

     How to convey enslaved fervor of a pupil,
     And of a sober blown-up nostril,
     At the full trot the curbed confusion.

     Before the beauty most filled with delight
     How to convey - from the archangel heights
     The saddles and the spears of deed done

     And these arrows of eyelashes - virginity
     Wrathful - the coat of ebony -
     Piercing - we are not of one bone!

     Having completed witnessing God's missive,
     How to convey, George, how you were evasive -
     That you have touched the ground barely -

     A bow - and how the hole at once,
     Piercing-crooked, filled with ice:
     Oh, don't be grateful! By the orders, squarely.


     5
     From the archangel height of the seat
     To do evangelic deeds.
     River burns, dark for miles far hence.
     O distance! Distance! Distance!

     In piercing straightness of the lashes of the eye
     With a firestorm onto the birds to fly.
     The hooves! The wings! Bound up tight!
     O height! Height! Height!

     To open eyes like jaw! Like gear
     Beyond clouds to disappear!
     And not to come to wits - to fall and die:
     O desire! Desire! Desire!


     6
     And I need no girl.
     By the cold of will,
     By the trace of blue
     I will alone go.

     Widowed and an orphan
     You were till I conquered.
     By the willing trace
     Of rushing spring water.

     I'll wash away feats
     From the glory, from pus.
     In your glory I'll
     Give drink to the horse.

     Keep, little dove,
     The sprouts from hail,
     The girl from the serpent,
     The hero from the girl.


     7
     O, by every wind
     Shaken lotus!
     George's shyness,
     George's kindness...

     The childish - severe - deadly importance
     Of gigantic eyes
     Wide and moist.

     Thus deadly torment
     From the rags peers.
     And the excessive
     Weight of a spear

     Not here - with a proud
     Laugh, full of height:
     George most mild,
     George most quiet.

     Most bitter - candle of my vigils - George,
     Most mild - with eyes of a deer - George!

     (The deer that's forgiven
     To the trembling pack).
     To whom did the day
     Of George strike the clock.

     O my lotus!
     My swan!
     Swan! My deer!

     You're all my vigils of night
     And all my dreams beside!

     You my Easter psalm!
     You my final altar!
     You more than my son
     And more than my tsar!

     My azure eye -
     In the height!
     You, having raised again
     Your escaped wife.

     So listen!


     [8]
     With thorn, not with laurel
     As a king crowned,
     In a saddle - with wings!

     Around the shape narrow
     On the black velvet
     Maltese gold is.

     Unbreakable thorn
     Needles - a vow
     To friend and God.

     High bending
     Of a swan, on the side
     A Maltese sword.

     The knight of Maltese
     Order - George,
     Midst sleepers - aware.

     The knight of Maltese
     Order - George,
     At women doesn't stare.



Good Tidings 



     1
     Into the treasure chest
     Of the midnight depths
     I let down
     An steady hand.

     Amid seaweed
     There's no sight of him!
     My treasure-chest
     Is not in the sea!

     Into the singing height
     Clouds beyond -
     With double thunder
     I get brave - and now

     A lark has dropped
     From the height for me -
     That you're not beyond cloud,
     That you're beyond sea!


     2
     Alive and well!
     Louder than thunder -
     Like with an axe -
     Joy!

     No, with an axe
     Not enough: with a bull
     Under the butt
     Of happiness!

     Stunned.
     Afraid.
     What in exchange -
     Will they tear away?

     And from the knees
     All the way to the roots
     Of standing hair -
     Terror.

     So it is, alive?
     Shutting one's eyes,
     Breathing, they call -
     Hear?

     Did the ship go away?
     Oh my crane
     In the whole flock
     Youngest!

     Resurrected once died?
     Cutting out sigh
     A stone from the sky,
     Breaking

     Over the head -
     No, till the hilt
     Sword into chest -
     Joy!


     3
     Not hunching under sorrow,
     Under the stone - winged - as
     An eagle - having stayed whole,

     The double sadness
     Of earthly mothers
     And heavenly mistresses

     Having raised on the shoulder -
     Hot Maltese steel
     Was left to me!

     But the wrathful sky
     To the eagles - favorably.
     Is this not a dream: in the waves

     Multitude of horse angels!
     Between them - hosanna! -
     My - whiter than snow...

     Lily chausibles,
     Horse will carry out! -
     Foaming lops on a mantle.
     Wave will carry out! -
     Block standing up...
     God will carry out...
     - Oh!


     4
     Over the sleeping youth - golden spurs.
     Command: Up high!
     Back at the heels the crowd of robbers.
     George, cry!

     With a free left hand you're feeling the cross.
     Command: swim!
     Rule, that to the last one they come under
     The cupola Sofian!

     We're lost! The joints will not bear!
     The end! - Give up!
     With double lightning it opens the wings.
     Command: up!


     5
     In the name of massacre
     Hold tight, my one with wings!
     There was an hour of crossing
     And will be - of getting even.

     In that ton-and-half hour
     Between fact and dream
     Heavily paddled
     The ship's wings.

     Between Charybdis - yes! -
     And Scylla paddled away.
     Oh my wings,
     The ships-cranes!

     Then on the steep
     Shore of Euxene
     Stomped those who escaped,
     Will - those who win.

     In that hour exhausting
     Between mud and muzzle
     The wings did not weaken,
     The hearts did not chill,

     The shoulders were pressing,
     In guard eyes remained.
     O these wings of mine,
     The ships-cranes!

     Not given to offend
     Narrow-faced little birds,
     It was said - a she-eagle's
     Heart of Taurides.

     With many a letter
     Onto cry long-beaked
     The gray-haired Monarchian
     Mom did awake.

     And here's the Sofian
     Cupola - far away...
     O these my wings,
     The ships-cranes!

     Bear! Dark constellation
     Will shiver up high.
     The vengeance will come
     Not from sea, from the sky.

     Look: having been poured
     With lead of heaven,
     The flock of ships
     Is menacing, heavy.

     And there is no end to it,
     There is no land...
     O these my wings,
     The ships-cranes!



Return of Rain


     Horse - lame.
     Sword - rusty.
     Who - now?
     Leader of crowds.

     Step - hour,
     Sigh - century,
     Look - down.
     All - there.

     Foe. - Friend.
     Thorn. - Laurel.
     All - dream...
     He. - Horse.

     Horse - lame.
     Sword - rusty.
     Cloak - old.
     Stature - straight.



x x x


     Into the ether
     Leads the path.
     Stop, now!
     Blind is youth.
     Higher, all higher!
     Into blue rye!
     Stop, now!
     You'll step in the sky.



To Mayakovsky


     Above crosses and pipes,
     Baptized in fire and smoke,
     The heavy-footed archangel -
     Eternal Vladimir, hello!

     He's the rider and he's the horse,
     He's the right and he's the whim.
     He sighed, and spat into the palms:
     Hold tight, the dray fame!

     The singer of plaza wonders -
     Hello, one grimy and proud,
     That he chose the heavy stone
     And was not swayed by the diamond.

     Hello, the thunder of stones!
     He yawned, saluted - and again
     He paddles with shaft - the wing
     Of the archangel dray.



From cycle "Khan's Horde"



     1
     The Khan's pollen
     Having fully tried
     I beat with the wing
     To escape-god.

     Profitable god
     Fast god
     Spurs in the side - god!

     To inform
     With word and sign,
     Lay them to sleep
     With poppy and vine,

     Darkness and home be,
     Word and sign be,
     Stump and ditch be -
     That all winds in the chest beat!

     A black god,
     Raven-god,
     Midnight-beats-god.

     With a comb-slant,
     With a stone-grass
     Over the slanting -
     Yuck - Tatars!

     My horse the ground don't touch,
     My foreheads the stars don't touch,
     My breath my lips don't touch,
     Rider-horse, finger-palm.

     A horse god,
     Sleepy god,
     Crowbar in forehead - god!

     To the fast legs -
     Strength and bravery!
     That would be sung
     In villages for centuries:

     Of escaped and barefoot - god,
     Of bare-headed - god,
     Flight, splash, whip, whipped - god,
     Devil on the oars - god.

     Cry - god,
     Whip - god,
     Headlong - god!


     2
     There is no trivet
     And no fire.
     Take me, take me!
     With the Tatars

     He will from me
     Eat the horse bone.
     Accompany,
     The milestone!

     "Where, quickness,
     Is cross-your-chain?"
     "Under khan's boots
     Is cross-my-chain.

     My town's in blood,
     Chest without cross -
     Adopt me,
     Mother-versts!"

     "Where, orphan,
     Is your load-home?"
     "Hearth - under ribs,
     Under saddle - home,

     My khan - Mamai,
     My bread is angst.
     To old one in heaven,
     Church's porch-versts!"

     "Why are you, beauty,
     Strict to the khan?"
     "Strict to the khan?
     Memory's long.

     My khan - like stone,
     Moscow - like hole.
     To angel's camp,
     Versts-tablecloth!"


     3
     Your trace is untrammeled,
     A crown is your tuft.
     The burst and the crier
     Screech under the hoof.

     An incompetent fire,
     An untravelled path, there. -
     An unshod horse
     Oh Russia-mother!

     Your cotton's not selling,
     Your goon has no arms.
     A hook's in your mansion
     And a trough with no charm.

     I'll eat lots of bark -
     Not a marvel it was!
     Oh Russia-mother,
     Spellbound horse!

     Don't jump up - don't sit!
     And once sat - do not blame!
     But one horseman, Mamai,
     For your taste is game!

     A slanting vileness,
     A thief's palm...
     The unconfessed stallion,
     Russia-mom!



Praise to Aphrodite



     1
     Blessed are the ones that left your daughters, Earth,
     To fight in wartime battle and to run,
     Blessed are the ones that having never tried
     Comfort went to the fields Elysian.

     Thus grows the laurel - writer of the years,
     Heater of battle, sober, with harsh leaves.
     I will never exchange for bitter fate of love
     The friendship's over-the-clouds cliffs.


     2
     Already gods' - not the same generosity,
     Upon the shore of river's shore, not the same one.
     Fly, fly again, the doves of Aphrodite
     Into wide open gates of setting sun.

     I'll leave in day, in which there is no count,
     Lying upon the sand that's growing cold...
     I've outgrown my youth and look upon it
     Like snake that's looking at his skin of old.


     3
     In vain, inside the promised branches hiding,
     Your tender retinue thunders above.
     I drop a myrtle that did love so many,
     I drop the belt that did so sweetness love.

     With a dumb arrow that is heavily piercing
     Freed me from these my shackles your own son.
     Thus at the very throne of my calmness
     You born of foam, as a foam be gone!


     4
     How many, how many of them, white and blue
     Eat from the hands!
     Whole kingdoms are clucking around your lips
     O Lowliness!

     In gold of cup the deadly sweat
     Does not translate.
     The mantle-wearing general will vanish
     Like dove of white.

     Every cloud like a chest circles
     In a bad hour.
     There is your visage, O she-devil, in
     Each perfect flower.

     You fleeting foam, the salt of the sea..
     In torment and foam -
     For what reason should I obey
     You, armless stone?



Youth



     1
     This my youth! O this my alien youth!
     This my alien youth, my boot unpaired!
     Purposefully narrowing the inflamed eyes,
     Thus a leaf from calendar they tear.

     From among your very acquisitions
     Nothing took away the thoughtful Muse.
     You were both a burden and encumbrance
     To me. I don't ask you back, my youth.

     You whetted the arrows in the nighttime,
     You whispered within the night with comb.
     I have suffered for the sins of others
     Pressed down with your generosity, like stone.

     Your scepter before its time returning -
     Of what use is evidence to the soul!
     O my youth! My tired youth you are!
     You my tattered rag that once was whole!


     2
     Soon from swallows - into sorcerers!
     Youth! We will say farewell before then...
     We will stand in the wind soul to soul!
     My tan one! My sister console!

     With a skirt of raspberry flare,
     You my youth! My dove you are
     Tan! Waste of my soul!
     You my youth! Dance and console!

     Wash me with a shawl of azure,
     My insane one! We have played with you
     For a plenty! Dance a while and spar!
     My gold - farewell - amber!

     For a reason your arms touch I,
     Like to a lover I say goodbye.
     Torn away from depths within my breast -
     My youth! Go to someone else!



Muse


     No awards, no forefathers,
     Not a falcon clear.
     She goes and is torn away -
     She is so far!

     Underneath tan eyelids
     A golden-winged flame.
     Forgotten once she took it
     With a windswept arm.

     An un-picked-up skirt,
     A rag that went bare.
     I'm not kind, not mean
     But like this: so far.

     Does not fuss or cry:
     Tore - and therefore dear!
     You gave - and forgotten
     With a windswept arm.

     With a scream and with a throat's
     Scattering, forgot...
     So distant as she is
     Come and keep her, God!



x x x


     Without self-control
     With complete meekness.
     Light and soft is
     Air over abyss.

     Growing at once,
     Like lightning - in time,
     As if by an order
     There will be a blossom.

     Answering stars,
     With a snake hair...
     Himself defenseless -
     Not a flame-bearer!

     He to me? I to him?
     I'll try, I know.
     Without intent
     Into death I will go.



x x x


     Thus swam the head and lyre down
     To the receding far-off place.
     And lips repeated: pity, pity,
     And "world" the lyre did convince.

     Bloody-silver, silver-and-bloody
     And double trace she did then pour,
     My tender brother, my dear sister
     Along the paralyzed Gebr.

     At times, the movement of head slowed
     Inside the unabated angst.
     But lyre assured: do pass me near!
     And lips behind her said, "Alas!"

     Moving together like a garland
     With far-off rippling head of bed -
     Do not the hair pour with silver?
     Does not the lyre pour with blood?

     Thus, with a staircase descending
     Of river - into crib of swells.
     Thus, to new island, where it's sweeter
     Than somewhere - lies a nightingale...

     Where then are they, the holy remnants?
     The salty wave - respond, respond!
     Maybe the net has pulled it out,
     Net of bare-headed Lesbian?



x x x


     Not for flattering chausibles, frocks of lies -
     I was born in this world with loud voice!

     Wide awake - not the night dreams of mine!
     I don't live, like you, with whisper-spine!

     From you of me, whisper-that-thorn -
     Lyre, lyre, a curve of a swan!

     With laurel, with dawn, with winds one
     I make merry and am not a nun!

     And the boy - is not dumb, is fair-haired!
     And it's gone to the side overboard -

     From you of me, whisper-that-thorn -
     Lyre, lyre, a curve of a swan!

     Heavy, I do hear, is woman's role!
     I don't know - did not put on the scale!

     My product is a gift, not for sale,
     But with blueness will go this my nail -

     From you of me, screaming-wheezing-one -
     Lyre, lyre, a curve of a swan!



x x x


     Woman's chest! The soul's frozen breath -
     Woman's reason! Wave, that by surprise
     Was caught - and always by surprise
     Having caught up to you - and God sees!

     Of the despising and despised playpen
     Has quieted. - Woman's chest! - Yielding was
     An armament! - I am thinking of those...
     Of those one-breasted ones - those girlfriends!



From Cycle "Girlfriend II"



     To never-quiet Ave,
     To Easter feast -
     A beautiful glory
     Of girlfriend last.


     1
     Sleeps, merriment, your torment,
     Sleeps suffered heart's torment so.
     Over the Iverian cradle
     Blissful! Allow to go slow.

     Not my fussiness, not envy
     Brought me home - do not forbid!
     I came like shepherds in the village
     To give the glory to your kid.

     O silver-fake gold-mica!
     Not seen by the same star!
     Like dug in over the house,
     Like dug in - look - the star!

     I am not joyous and do not envy
     A saw to my heart, as I see
     What is it to your son I am giving?
     Here is my cloak - my staff is here.


     2
     Like in a precious chausible
     In infant tears,
     You're blessed in your wives!
     You're blessed, dear!

     Near to the roadside cross
     Your eyes you open.
     (He was an orphan just as well -
     Fatherless son).

     Like in a precious chausible
     In infant tears,
     You're blessed in your tears!
     You're blessed, dear.

     Clear, unconcerned over the sleeping
     Bird is your forehead.
     The good news' bearer was your crown,
     Bearer - your bed.

     Shiver and tree your stature is
     Over the sleeping bird.
     The good news' bearer was his dad -
     Be joyful, girl!

     Like in a precious chausible,
     In heaven's snow
     Blessed in snow you have been!
     You're blessed so.


     3
     A giant stroke of a wing,
     Breath whips - in wives
     You are blessed,
     In wives, alive.

     Where's messenger? It's wild and white.
     A crown? A wing?
     Where's messenger? By snowstorm blown -
     Message and wing.


     4
     With what to deserve you and give back your due -
     Blessed forever! Babe's mother you!

     Over the dragnet growing with glass
     Again repeating: Light from the east!

     From his blue eyes to stars of blue
     Having thrown a bridge with the rainbow, you!


     -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --
     I don't fall! I don't fall! I swim far
     And - as a rainbow - bridge over Nieva.

     Life-giver in hour of the end!
     Affirmer of kingdoms! Mother of son!

     In wheeze of torments - in a bad song!
     You - "Be" - as a child have thrown!



Bethlehem



     Two poems that accidentally did not go into "Poems to Blok"


     1
     Not with silver I came,
     Not with amber I came,
     Not as a king I came,
     As a shepherd I came.

     Here's air of hills of mine,
     Here's of two eyes of mine
     Sharp gaze - and of fires
     Red glare and of dawns of mine.

     Where's wax - that is the fur?
     Through hole I won't turn!
     Poorer than all -
     But ahead of all!

     Behind a camel a camel
     See: on that round hill,
     See: walking are the kings,
     See: they are bearing bins.

     O - after - far!


     2
     Three kings,
     Three bins
     With precious gifts.

     The first bin -
     All the earth
     With indigo seas.

     Second bin:
     Noah within
     With an ark with beasts.

     And within?
     That third bin?
     What is there, my king?

     Gives the king,
     "Holy's my light"
     Don't know what it means

     Ahead - king,
     Mom - behind,
     And the infant weeps.



x x x



     S. E

     How comes into the middle
     In battles of the Don -
     Thus my dream is with you
     In cities over the ocean.

     For the paper dust they'll take
     Bookcase from the wall.
     All's for sale, and nonetheless
     Memory's not for sale.

     In a green wood full of firs
     There's no such straight pine.
     You and me, that is because,
     From one cradle come.

     Not for thousand fates - we're born
     For one, you and me.
     Nearer than bread to the palm -
     Thus do we agree.

     Fire and flood did not bear off
     Finger of gold made!
     In those sleepless hours we are
     Nearer than to forehead, hand.

     My widowhood will not accept
     Neither miller, nor flour.
     An inviolable bond:
     In one crib we were.

     In my chest my watch, once wound,
     Did not rust, you know.
     There's autocracy within
     The red Russia, know.

     May the whole world come to end -
     At night service I will stand.
     Thus with you before the wall -
     As to others with a garland.

     And now, keen before me, you!
     Brothers, do not yawn!
     Thus together we come at night:
     Our crib was one.



x x x


     She is unusual all the way! Beyond power!
     He forgot! Do not accuse me so far!
     You're blessed by God! To say he did will -
     You're blessed by God! And beyond, so level

     A satin stitch... Stand: wives between
     You're blessed by God... And beyond ringing
     So jubilant... little child, hear:
     You're blessed by God! - And silence out far
     Stretches...



To Akhmatova


     Your stripe will be harvested
     By which person's arms?
     O the black magician you!
     My black-plaited one!

     Your tumultuous century,
     And your midnight days...
     All your little workers are
     At once born away.

     Where are your campaigner friends,
     Your comrades in arms?
     O the black magician you,
     My one with white arms!

     Not with glory, not with tears
     Can one heal those graves.
     One, as though he had been choked,
     Walked around alive.

     One more went into a wall
     Himself to advance.
     (He was proud - a falcon!) - They
     Knocked him out at once.

     High above your brothers are!
     Can't exude a cry!
     O the black magician you,
     My one with clear eyes!

     And from out the cloud (praise
     Marvel from above!)
     Arrow of a falcon falls,
     Arrow of a dove...

     To know, in two feathers at once
     People to you write,
     Know, that soon you will receive
     A certificate,

     O the boulders! They will shake
     With their wings,
     O the black magician you!
     My one with black wings!



New Year's



     S E

     Brothers! In the last hour
     Of year - after our
     Russian land, living in us!
     Exactly twelve times
     Mug to mug!

     After the rabble of honor,
     After Taman, after Kuban,
     After our Russian Don,
     Jordan of old faith... Once more,
     Mug to mug!

     Comrades!
     Alive still is
     Mother - Passion - Russia!
     Comrades!
     Whole still is
     In the hearts - Russia!

     Brothers! Into the distance look in!
     Delvig and Pushkin,
     The deeds' and the hearts' crystal...
     Gloriously, like steel on steel -
     Mug to mug!

     Brotherhood's glorious gown -
     For our brother town
     Prague - till - crunching
     Ring out, Bohemian country! Ring,
     Mug to mug!

     Comrades!
     Alive still is
     Rumor - physique - steel.
     Comrades!
     Whole still is
     In the hearts - steel.

     Brothers! The final moment!
     On the border of forest
     Disappeared old man...
     Tightly - like fang to fang -
     Mug to mug!

     Voluntary tributes,
     Hello, kind abuse!
     Still alive is Russian
     God! Who believes - stand!
     Ring,
     Mug to mug!



New Year's #2



     S E

     He - with a tender sigh,
     They - cruel and tan.
     The eagles don't insult
     The migrated swan.

     To eagles - not by invite:
     Brother's he who flew inside!
     Free is our trapese,
     Wild is the New Year's rite.

     Guest of the eagle,
     Walk while you like!
     We are the free pilots,
     Two wings is our mark!

     Under loud vaults, battles:
     Look to look, steel to steel.
     Then the new year's night
     Beats with crystal on crystal.

     Look to look, border to border:
     Paired-up ringing of fates.
     One in New Year morning
     With eyes inarticulate.

     Don't drink, if you don't want!
     Near the table walk!
     We are the free pilots,
     Two wings is our mark!

     With cathedral avalanche
     New Year's collapse
     On the foreheads. The swan's angst,
     Don spent the night in your eyes.

     Swan's angst, to the motherland
     A lingering chain.
     We know your one only -
     Is this not steppe of Don?

     For this is the arrow -
     Fly where you would like.
     We are the free pilots,
     Two wings is our time!



x x x


     Over the mountains,
     Also foothills over,
     Together with dawns,
     With belltowers,

     Horse without control -
     Heading out full sail! -
     Into unknown land,
     Future, I lead way.

     Not an eagle to call
     And not swallow.
     She is not yet born -
     Do not christen her!

     Essence of two veins.
     Of the distant land.
     With the saw-makers,
     With the anvils, and

     Forehead - don't look back,
     Sigh - without a breath,
     To future I speak
     With the fiery sweat.

     Stumps till hollow -
     Is not taken yet!
     Do not judge her now!
     She is not born yet!

     Shadow - as a guide,
     Body - over a verst!
     Over protoxide,
     Also over rust.

     Over the new skills
     And faiths of times gone,
     Over grandsons, Russia -
     To the great-grandsons!

     (What to us is pasture
     Of the Kitezhs dead?)
     Fall in love with her!
     She is not born yet!

     Sickles are removed,
     Tables stand with food.
     With the fates they come,
     With the kingdoms too.

     With the semicircle,
     Sun over the sea!
     Next day looks between:
     Adamovo - be!

     With the breath - the spirit!
     By the knives - are one.
     Come catch up, you fool!
     On the seventh one!



From Cycle "Snowmounds"



     To Ehrenburg


     1
     In midnight darkness
     Sky threw mounds of snow.
     Like from a single uterus -
     Chest - and the sky - and the stones.

     Over the caverns' stalactites
     In emptiness of an alley
     Your name Er was
     Resounding hollowly.

     Under the sleepy curtain
     Bruce will not tell this to you:
     A leaning way into dreaming
     Russia - and women - two.

     Heavenly thunder is narrow!
     Er - is the leopard's maw.
     (Plummeting way into dreaming
     Passion - and women - two...)
     Er - an unbreakable fortress!
     Er - ahead through the maw!
     Er - in the tightened blindness
     Of depths - flight in a halo!

     Thus, between sky and the palate,
     One of small faith, joy proclaim! -
     Over the dream-vision snow mounds
     Of Er that is your name.


     2
     Not here, where it's tied,
     But there, where it's willed.
     Not here, where Lazaruses
     Rant with a bed,

     Against day's crushed stone
     With beasts of burden.
     There is no arm here
     To you - mine.

     There, where it's reduced,
     Not here, where it's curved,
     Not here, where with wings
     They decide - with swords,

     Where loud flesh on us
     Finally beat!
     There is no gift here
     To you - from me.

     Not here, where it's asked,
     There where answer is given...
     Not here, where death is
     Messy, and between

     Is heavy - with wormhole,
     And snake-jealousy.
     There's no inheritance here
     To you - from me.

     And hard-browed life will not
     Look back! Here
     There's no rendezvous
     There're only wires here,

     The ends of belts here
     Are bound all through...
     There are no matins here
     From me - to you.

     Not yard with peelings -
     Heaven's bits blessed!
     Not here, where it's sought,
     There, where it's released,

     Where days' betrayal is
     Splashed out all through.
     Where there are no words:
     From me - to you.


     3
     A strange man, for all my rivers,
     Is a wide bed.
     A passerby, in whom arms - like a snow
     With all heat of eyelids

     Guilty - after whom I come and I come,
     In thunder of meeting carts.
     Lover, whom it can and it cannot,
     (Sigh will survive - and not!)

     A strange man,
     A dear man,
     Nightfall-man,
     For all time-man!

     Unknown! - in snake oil, without candles,
     I'll bake the bread for wedding.
     Betrayal! My river will run in a course
     Of partings, not meetings.

     In meeting! - And if my speech is dark -
     From shoulders a stone home!
     On tearing of partings, on grumbling of meetings -
     The speech of my stream.

     Open space - man,
     From nothing - man,
     Through floor - man,
     Came through - man.


     4
     I've magicked,
     I've grumbled.
     From left to right I
     Accompanied.

     Only as no one
     Only about no one,
     Only night vigil -
     Above the icons:

     Sorcery-storms,
     Oars-fires -
     Grumbling of God
     Is proud above.

     I've cuckooed,
     I've angsted too.
     That with my glory -
     All rocks to you.

     That with my power -
     To you all rivers.
     In first and third time,
     Now and forever...

     That with my left arm -
     Weakness and help.
     That as no one,
     About no one...

     I've sung as nightingale,
     I've frozen.
     Without transfer
     To heaven - I promised,

     (That with my flattery to you
     All birds to the last one...)
     In heaven who knows whose.
     In heaven Persian...

     In sweetness and suffering
     Give through the hand, you!
     Hello - in parting!
     Farewell - in a rendezvous!


     5
     And soon is the parting,
     Snow mounds yielding. Well,
     Your storms' comfort, niceness
     Of grumblings, farewell,

     Grumpy spindles' Kingdom, zeal
     Of wolves white as snow.
     Snow mound heavy, noble-like,
     Post-like, of white stone,

     Knightly, and of comfort
     To your both siblings...
     And soon is the parting,
     Snow mounds are yielding.

     Ah, to discord, loss, dissension
     Wide is open door!
     Gifted luxury of orphan
     Winter, farewell, snow!

     Farewell, white eagles' retinue,
     Trace untried, unknown,
     Farewell, sin covered with snow,
     On the melted snow.

     Hunchbacks-humps-the little camels -
     Householders, farewell!
     And soon is the parting,
     The snow mounds do yield.

     With love, poor people are owed
     A ringing day of spring.
     Where there's snowstorm: cover-our-curtain,
     A head leaning!

     The entire day munches,
     Tireless, icicles' grain.
     Butchery, knackery, pieces,
     Droplets, and parting.

     Day - with belt, the night is skimpy:
     Not to try, nor start...
     And the snow mounds are yielding,
     Soon we too will part...

     In two hands I take - by both:
     I won't be torn - well?
     Beads expensive into two
     Rivers from the holes.

     Enchanted, defrosted is
     The way, sold to the streams.
     Friend! Over the steep snow mounds
     Left my sorceries.

     Do not stare that tears are pouring:
     Water - it may be!
     It is now the time of parting
     That snow mounds do yield.



x x x


     Familiar! Wherefrom you come to our country?
     Which wind to attack?
     Familiar! I will not fall in love with you:
     Your suit is black.

     While the black bonfire is burning,
     To beauty - spark into an eye!
     Familiar! Yours is a costly fancy,
     And costly is refusal, too, of mine.



From Cycle "Earthly Marks"



     1
     Thus, in the meager labor of days,
     Thus, in difficult convulsion to her,
     You will forget the friendly trochee
     Of the courageous girlfriend of yours.

     Her severity's bitter gift,
     And the light shyness' hidden heat,
     And that whose name is distance
     That wireless hit.

     All antiquity, except: Give and Mine,
     All, except the earth's, jealousy,
     All loyalty - but in a deadly war
     To a Thomas who does not believe.

     My tender one! Do not take into your home
     This refugee, by the grayness of dads!
     Be well the left-chested smithy
     Of not philosophical ends!

     But maybe, in twitters and counts
     Having tired of femininity -
     And you will recall my arm, right-less,
     And a courageous sleeve.

     The lips, not demanding to laugh,
     The rights not following behind,
     The eyes, knowing not the eyelids,
     And following: light.


     2
     Not correcting the marvel to numbers,
     Find trusting girlfriends for you!
     I know that Venus is work of hands,
     I'm a craftsman - and craft I know.

     To full trampling of the soul
     From silence solemn and high:
     The divine staircase - From:
     My breath - to: do not sigh!


     3

     (BALCONY)
     Ah, from a stark overlook
     Down - into ash and tar!
     To salt the underweight with tears
     Of earthly love - what for?

     Balcony. Darkness of evil
     Kisses through salty rains.
     And sigh of endless hatred:
     Breathe out a poem's refrain!

     What: heart or Batiste rabble
     Is in the arm like stone
     Tight? To such lotions
     There is a name: Jordan!

     This battle with love, I hear,
     Is wild and heartless, yes.
     Even from granite brow
     Soar - to breathe out in death!


     4
     Hands - and resale
     And re-action in a round!
     Only the lips,
     Only not to mix up my hands!

     There is no sleep from these
     All these worries.
     Raising my hands,
     Friend, I curse my memory!

     That in the poems
     (In the landfill of my Highness!)
     You did not wither,
     You did not dry like others.

     That in the chest
     (In thousand-breasted brothers' grave
     Of mine) - you weren't
     Washed by the millenia's rains!

     Midst bodies, body -
     You, that were loss to me of two stars!
     That he won't vanish
     With a message: Not recognized.



x x x


     Hello! Not arrow, not stone:
     I am the most live of wives:
     With two arms into your sleepless
     Sleep. I am life.

     Give! (On the two-sharp tongue
     Take! - two-sharpness of snake!)
     All of me in bare-headed
     Joy, please do take!

     Cling! - today on the schooner,
     Cling! - on the skies! - Cling! - linen!
     I am today in new
     Gilded and the seventh skin!

     Mine! - and of which rewards
     When in the hands, at mouth - heaven:
     Life is the flung-open joy
     To say hello in the morn!



x x x


     In empty temple
     Trinity - with myrrh.
     I fell on my crown
     With grain and fire...

     In the night screams
     I entered equally -
     I will be your
     Brazier tiny:

     Domestic fowl:
     To smoke the angst,
     To chase night boredom,
     Warm earthly hands!

     From pitiless chest of
     Gods - so I'm thrown!
     Any love was given me:
     A big one!

     With such bonds!
     With such privilege!
     Half a life? All for you!
     To elbow? Here is she!

     For this, that you torment,
     For this, that you demand,
     For this, that there are
     Poor earthly hands...

     In vain! By amphibrach
     You will not regulate!
     Only open the eyes
     Wider within my breast,

     Not as Logos I came,
     Not as eternity,
     With empty-headedness
     Your twittering

     To the chest... Not to have power!
     Without word on the word -
     To love... a prostrate
     Swallow - in the world!



x x x


     Inimitably lies life:
     Above waiting, above a lie...
     But by the trembling of all veins
     You may recognize: Life!

     (Why that in rye you lie!) - heat, wave...
     Like in the rye you lie: ringing, blue...
     Blather - through honeysuckle - hundred veins...
     Be joyful! I was called by you!

     And since spellbound us bodies do
     Have the souls, friend, don't be scolding -
     That's now: into the dream with forehead.
     Otherwise - why did you sing?

     In the white book of your quietness,
     In your "yes"'s mud wild -
     Quietly I lean the forehead to you:
     For the palm is life.



x x x


     Lethe's underwater light,
     Reef of a red heart.
     Lancet has stopped short,
     Closing the singing throat:

     Not the red heat of metal,
     Not the difficulties' heat -
     A non-dissolved pearl
     In the bitterness of singing throats.

     Sorrow sorrow! In all
     We cut, swim and die.
     For not dissolved is the pearl
     In the voice's ray...

     With iron into roar,
     Thousands drills and saws -
     A non-extruded thorn
     In bitterness of singing throats.



Trees



     1
     In dead ones believing,
     To be spellbound I do not try.
     In ancient heather,
     In silver-sliding land dry,

     Let pipers with trumpets
     Glory to my shade beam!
     In heather-losses,
     In heather-dry streams.

     Ancient heather!
     Growth on the naked stone!
     In our orphanage's identity
     Having assured and known,

     Bits of the final brocade
     Having lost and taken away -
     In heather-ruin,
     In heather-streams turned dry.

     Two-minded friendships
     And choking of ugliness, life.
     With heat and dryness,
     (For severe is the chief),

     Higher, where mountain-ash
     Is prettier than David King!
     In heather-gray spots,
     In heather-dry seas.


     2
     When drunk on insult became
     The incensed soul,
     When to fight demons seven times
     She gave a vow,

     Not with the ones, with fiery rains
     Flushed into the abyss:
     With earthly lowliness of days,
     With people's bigotries -

     Trees! I come to you! To be saved
     From market cry!
     Like heart it's breathed inside by your
     Wavings up high!

     Oak with God wrestling! Into war
     With root march in!
     Willows - my prophetesses, you!
     Birches-virgins!

     On torture raised above
     The pine - you, my lips' psalm:
     The bitterness of ashberry, elm -
     Wrathful Avessalom.

     To you! May the crumbling be
     Of leaves - live mercury!
     First time to open the arms!
     To throw the manuscript!

     The swarms of green reflections...
     Like ones weaving arms!
     My bare-headed ones you are,
     My trembling ones!


     3
     To swimmers, in a circle light
     Having been beaten -
     A flock of guardian nymphs - suddenly,
     The mantles sweeping

     A scroll is unrolled - In a back throw
     Of foreheads and hands
     In dance that suddenly will end
     With blow of defense -

     A long arm put on the thigh...
     Drawing out, I scream...
     A silver of the birches,
     Alive are the streams!


     4
     Friends! Brotherly multitude!
     You, with whose stroke is blown
     The trace of earthly insult. Wood! -
     Elysium mine!

     A co-bottler of souls
     In friendships' loud band
     Having chosen soberness, day
     In quiet brotherhood - I will end.

     Ah, from a stomping crowd
     In light sacrificial fire
     Of groves! In great stillness of
     Moss! In the current of firs...

     The wise tiding of tree! Wood
     That prophesies, of the curves
     On the riffraff, here,
     Is the perfect life:

     Where no slavery, nor ugliness,
     There, where all is its height,
     There, where truth's better seen:
     On the days' other side...


     5
     Refugees? Messengers?
     Respond if you are alive!
     The monks on horseback,
     Having seen God in groves?

     How many sandals are running?
     How many buildings are flaming?
     How many runners and judges
     For the trees' running?

     Forest! You're now a rider!
     That's which people disease
     Call: is the last
     Convulsion of trees -

     This - in a wide dress
     Is a teen with nectar fed.
     This - at once and with root
     Uptorn is the wood!

     No, another, not flakes
     In a day - leafed flood
     I see: spears headlong
     I see: murmur of blood!

     And in upturned junk heap
     Flying - who could have seen?
     That is Saul after David:
     After his death so tan.


     6
     Not with paint or with brush!
     Light - his kingdom, it's gray.
     Here light violates color
     The red leaves - a lie.

     Color, with light violated.
     Light - to fight color on breast.
     Is not in this secret
     The essence and strength

     Of autumn forest?
     Over the quiet creek of days
     Like curtain was torn -
     And behind it's scary...

     Through chausible of parting
     Like seeing a son -
     And suddenly words rise:
     Elysium and Palestine.

     A stream... a draft...
     Through trembling's little script -
     Light, better than death -
     And - connection's cut.


     -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --
     The autumn grayness,
     You, apotheosis of Goethe!
     Much was sung here
     And was unbound still more.

     Thus light the gray spots:
     Thus family heads - of the son
     Last out of seven
     The final, very last one

     Into the last doors -
     With rubbed-through light of arms...
     (I don't trust paint! Here
     Purple - is last of servants!)

     Not light already:
     They shimmer with some kind of light...
     Not in this or other
     And the connection is cut.

     Thus the deserts are lighting
     And - I said more than I could:
     Cupolas of Elysium
     And Palestine's sand.


     7
     That which slept without a vision -
     Has touched and stands.
     In strict gradualness of psalm,
     With visionary mountain -

     The multitudes of bodies that awaken -
     Hands! Hands! Hands!
     Like warriors under the hail of arrows,
     Ripe for torments.

     Scrolls of the falling into ash
     Chausibles, see-through like nets.
     The lashes of the old ones, not knowing
     Shame, and hands

     Covering the groin... (Of virgins!)
     Of teenagers' - birds!
     With a horsecart on the pipe of court!
     Body till the loins

     Having wheedled from coffin wraps -
     Flight gray-bearded:
     Now! - Transportation! - Legion!
     Entire peoples

     Of refugees! - On dearness and rage!
     Remember! - Be! - See!
     In the evening, on the hill,
     Several running trees.


     8
     Someone is driving - to deadly victory.
     Trees have the gestures of tragedy.
     Jews - the secret dance! The trees
     Have the quivers of mystery.

     This - is a conspiracy against century:
     Weight, count, time, fractions.
     This - is a torn curtain:
     Trees have gestures over the coffins.

     Someone's riding. Sky - entry is.
     Triumphal gestures have the trees.


     9
     With what inspiration,
     With what truths of God,
     Of what you sound,
     The leaves' floods?

     With what frantic
     Sevillian secrets -
     Of what you sound,
     Of what forget?

     What's in your fanning?
     I know - you heal
     Time's insult with
     Eternity's chill.

     But as a young genius having
     Risen - you decry
     With finger of absence
     The beholding's lie,

     That once anew, like never,
     The earth to us did seem.
     That underneath the eyelids
     Took place conspiracies.

     That with money of wonder
     Not to show off - so please!
     That underneath the eyelids
     Took place the mysteries!

     And from strength away!
     And from urgency away!
     Into the flood! - In prophecies
     With indirect speeches.

     Canopy with - leaves?
     Did Seville moan?
     Avalanches of leaves,
     Ruins of leaves...



x x x


     Gold of my hair
     Comes to grayness quietly.
     All took place, within the chest
     All flowed, sang. Don't pity me!

     Sang - in moaning pipe of land
     On the edge blended distance.
     God! Your design is the most
     Secret: The soul did take place.


     -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --
     The incombustible salt
     Of my hands - will not I
     Give the Phoenix's ash for tar
     Of magnificence of time?

     Even you have grown silver,
     Satellite! To thunder and smoke,
     To young graynesses of deeds -
     Add the grayness of my thoughts.

     Golden flower so proud,
     Of your luxury don't boast:
     To young graynesses of troubles
     Laurel came - and citizen oak.



Praise to the Rich


     And henceforth, that between me and you
     There are miles - having forewarned!
     Why do I count myself with the mob,
     That honest is my place in the world:

     Under the wheels of all excess: table
     Of uglies, cripples, backs with hunch...
     And from now, from the roof of belltower
     I announce: I love the rich!

     For their root, rotten and shaky,
     Growing the wound from the cradle,
     For the absent-minded habit
     From the pocket to pocket again.

     For the quietest request of their lips,
     Filfilled like a scream. That in paradise
     They will not be allowed,
     That they do not look in the eyes.

     For their secrets - always with courier!
     For - with messenger - their romantic bliss!
     For the nights that to them are bound,
     (And they violently drink and kiss!)

     And for this that in counts, in boredom,
     In gilt, in yawns, in cotton, I screech
     Me the impudent they won't purchase -
     I'm repeating: I love the rich!

     And still, regardless of being shaved,
     Of satiety, fullness (I wink - and spend!)
     For some - suddenly - being beaten,
     For some sometime doubting glance

     Of a dog... not a rod
     To the zeros? Do not weights play and rage?
     And for this, that among the world's outcasts
     There is not such an orphanage.

     There is such foolish tale: through the eye
     Of a needle a camel to pass...
     For their look, that at death does wonder,
     Apologizing in disease,

     Like in bankruptcy... "Judged... Be glad - Yes"...
     For the quiet, from lips pressed tight, to which
     "I counted karats, I was the brother"
     I am adding: I love the rich!



Poets



     1
     Poet - from afar starts a speech.
     A poet - far away starts the speech.

     With planets, with marks, with roundabout
     Tales' hollows... between yes and nay
     He even having swung from the belltower
     Took out the hook... For comets' way

     Is poets' way. The scattered chime of purpose -
     That's his connection! Forehead up - despair!
     You know that the eclipses of the poets
     Are not foretold by the calendar.

     He's he, who mixes cards together,
     Who is deceiving count and weight,
     He's he, who asks from the desktop,
     Who beats with Kant over the head,

     Who is like tree in its own beauty
     In the stone coffin of Bastille.
     He, on whose train all are late,
     Whose traces have been chilled
     Always... For comets' way

     Is poets' way: burning and not warming.
     Tearing, not growing - to break up and tear -
     Your season, o the mantled curved one,
     Is not foretold by a calendar!


     2
     There are the extras, the unneeded
     That do not fit within the norm.
     (Not counting in your dictionaries
     To them the landfill is their home).

     There are the hollow, the pushed-down,
     There are the mute - like dung,
     Nail - to your silken skirt hem!
     Dirt from under the wheels is wrung!

     There are the unseen, the imaginary:
     (Sign: speck of an autumn hen!)
     There are the Jobs within the world
     That would have envied Job - when:

     We're poets - and in rhyme with pariahs,
     But from the shore thus having gone,
     We argue over God with goddesses
     And argue over girls with gods!


     3
     What should I do, blind and a stepson,
     When all have fathers and have eyes,
     When on anathema like embankments
     Of passion! Where runny nose is the
     Name of cry!

     What should I do, with rib and thought
     Singing! - like wire! Siberia! Sunburn!
     Upon your dreams - like on the bridge!
     With their weightlessness
     In weights' world.

     What should I do, singer and firstborn,
     When gray is blackest in the world!
     Where inspiration's like in thermos!
     With this measurelessness in
     Measures' world?!



Words and Meanings



     1
     You do not ever think about me!
     (Tire-some!)
     You think about me: the wires:
     Far - lasting.

     You don't complain about me, that it's pity...
     Sweeter than all...
     Only about one thing: the pedal:
     Pain - lasting.


     2
     The - palm in palm:
     What - for you're born?
     Don't - pity: please:
     Long - last - and pain.


     3
     Distance stretched out long with wires...
     Distance and pain, is the same palm
     Opening - wherefore?
     Distance and pain, is the same way.



Pedals


     As the distance pierces, likewise
     It the distance does caress.
     Longer - longer - longer - longer!
     The right pedal, this one is.

     It's no pity to be dying
     After seeing life in bliss.
     Deafer - deafer - deafer - deafer:
     The left pedal, this one is.

     Memory's humming Kitezh -
     Right! Lethean water's
     Take the left: the deafener
     Will out-sing the longerer.

     From the plot ones, notice,
     From the cast ones having tired,
     Life doesn't want to live... but often
     Death does not desire to die!

     It demands! From all the meatless
     Keys, all broken up in row.
     (With left pedal they do deafen,
     With right pedal they prolong...)

     It clangs! Like snake out of the falseness
     Of keys, broken up all the way...
     Further, further, further, further,
     With the right pedal they do lie!



Thus they listen..



     1
     Thus they listen (to the source
     Listens - the mouth).
     Thus they smell a flower:
     Deeply - till feeling's loss!

     Thus there's bottomless thirst
     In the indigo air.
     Thus children, in blueness of sheets,
     Into the memory peer.

     Thus the teenager feels
     Blood - until the lotus...
     Thus one falls in love:
     Falls into the abyss.


     2
     Do not scold me for this
     Dim and business-like look, friend.
     Thus they gulp down the gulp:
     Into depth: till feelings end.

     Thus working into cloth, tailor
     Sews his final attire.
     Thus children whisper in whisper,
     Into the cry crying.

     Thus they dance... (Great
     Is God - you turn around that's why!)
     Thus children are quiet in silence
     Crying in a cry.

     Thus without bane shows itself
     With a sting touched blood!
     Like falling into abyss:
     Thus they fall in love.



Dialogue of Hamlet with his Conscience


     "She's on the bottom, where is mud
     And seaweed... She went to sleep
     In them - but there is no sleep there!"
     "But I loved her,
     Like forty thousand brothers
     Can't love her"
     "Hamlet!

     She's on the bottom, where is mud:
     Mud! And the final garland
     Has floated on the river-side logs"
     "But I loved her
     Like forty thousand.."
     "Fewer,
     Still, than one lover.

     She's on the bottom, where is mud"
     "But I"
     (bewildered)
     "loved her?"



Crevasse


     With what this day will end
     Neither friendship nor love will know.
     With each day you answer more quietly,
     With each day deeper you go.

     Thus, worrying over nothing -
     Only branches move of a tree -
     Thus into the ice crevasse -
     Into the chest, that I smashed against thee!

     From the treasure-chest of likenesses
     Here is prediction - by guess - for thee:
     You in me like in crystal coffin
     Sleep - you like in deep wound in me

     Sleep - tight is the icy crevasse!
     Ices are jealous of their dead ones:
     Finger - armor - print - and belt...
     Without return and without response.

     In vain you scold Helen, widows!
     Not the beautiful Helen's Troy's fire!
     The blueness of ice crevasses,
     On whose bottom you sleep, sire...

     Sleep, dreamer! With you having met
     Like with Empidocles, Aetna...
     Chest will not give out its dead
     And to family say, it's in vain.



x x x


     On the appointed meeting
     I'll be late. I will come gray
     Having taken spring with me.
     You appointed him up high!

     I will walk for years - to bitter mercury
     Did not go Ophelia's taste!
     I will walk through mountains - and deserts,
     I will walk through souls - and hands.

     The earth will live for long! Thicket -
     Blood! And each droplet - creek.
     But always with the stream's side
     In bitter grass, Ophelia's look.

     That which quaffing passion, only
     Filled with mud! - On the stone, with shaft!
     I have loved you highly, highly,
     In the sky I have myself kept.



x x x


     Early still - not to be!
     Early still - not to burn!
     Tenderness! Cruel lash of
     Meetings from other world.

     How deeply not to lean -
     Bottomless vat is heaven!
     O, for a love like this
     It's early - without wounds!

     Life lives with jealousy!
     Into the earth the blood
     Pours. The widow will give
     Her right - for a sword?

     Life lives with jealousy!
     Damage to heart is blessed!
     Her right for a sickle
     Will give away the grass.

     Secret thirst of the grass...
     Every sprout: "break me down"...
     Given away to the rag,
     Still all the wounds are - mine!

     And till a common seam -
     I pour - you will not place -
     It is still early for ices
     Of other-worldly lands!



Moon - to Sleepwalker


     Those who wound up - will remain.
     Further - up.
     In the hour of final forgetfulness
     Don't wake up.

     He has no friends who is a genius
     And walks at night.
     In the hour of final vision
     Don't gain sight.

     I'm your eyes. The owl's roof
     Of eyes, dear.
     I will call you by the name -
     Do not hear.

     I'm your soul: Urania:
     To gods - door.
     Do not check me in the final
     Melding's hour.



Rails


     In some frequent lining of a note
     Coddling on the sheets without fail -
     Linens of a railroad are appearing,
     Cutting through, the blueness of a rail!

     Pushkin's: How many of them, where
     It chases! (It passed - they don't sing!)
     Here they all are leaving and departing,
     Here they chill and here they linger still.

     Here they stay. Pain like a note
     Remaining... Above love all
     Remaining... With wife of Lot
     Like embankment have grown cold the poles...

     Hour, when with despair like with loom
     Sheets have been spread out - Yours!
     And the that-has- now-gone-voiceless Sappho
     Cries in pain like a final seamstress.

     Cry unmurmuring! Cry of a swamp
     Heron, knowing already... Deep
     Linens of a railroad spreading out,
     With a scissors cutting is the beep.

     Flow apart with an unneeded dawn,
     O the red unnecessary spot!
     The young women each in their turn
     Do aspire onto such a sheet.



Letter


     They don't wait for letters,
     For a letter they wait.
     A shred of rag
     Around a braid
     Of glue. Within - a word.
     And happiness. And this - is all.

     Thus they don't wait for joy,
     Thus they wait for the end:
     A soldier's salute
     And into the chest - lead
     Three pieces. It's red in the eye.
     And this is it. And only.

     No happiness - she's old!
     Wind blew - color!
     The black muzzles
     And the yard's square.

     (The letter's square:
     Of ink and spells!)
     No one is too old
     For sleep of death!

     The letter's square.



x x x


     You that loved me with the falseness
     Of truth - and truth of lie,
     Abroad! There is nowhere further!
     You that in me placed your love!

     You, that loved me for much longer
     Than the time. - The right hand's stroke!
     You don't love me any longer
     Is the truth in six small words.



x x x


     The demon in me
     Is not dead but lives!
     In self like in jail
     In body like in bilge.

     Exit is axe
     From the world that is walls
     (An actor mumbles,
     "A stage is the world.")

     And lump-legged jester
     Did not act sly.
     In body - like in glory.
     Like in toga - in body.

     Many a year!
     Hold dear that you're alive!
     (Only the poets
     In bone - like in lie!)

     We won't make merry,
     Singing brothers,
     In body like in cotton
     Gown of a father.

     We cost the better.
     In heat we wilt.
     In body - like in stall.
     In self - like in a pot.

     Transitory magnificence
     We do not hold.
     In body - like in morass,
     In body - like in vault,

     In body - like in extreme
     Exile. - Wilt!
     In body - like in secret,
     In temples - like in a grip

     Of an iron mask.



x x x


     Into the gray spot - temple,
     Into rut - a soldier.
     Sky - with a sea we are painting you.
     Like on every syllable -
     That on secret peer
     I turnaround,
     I make myself cute.

     In the shootout - scythe,
     In the Christ dance - switch,
     Sea - I choke you off with the sky.
     Like on every poem -
     On a secret screech
     I am stopping,
     Putting my guard up high.

     In each line: You stand! In each spot
     There may treasure be.
     Eye! With light in you I unfold myself,
     I come apart. With angst
     On guitar harmony
     I rebuild myself,
     I cover myself.

     Marriage - in dawn
     Not in feather - of swan!
     Marriages are altogether different!
     Like on hyphen sign
     That on secret sign
     Brows are starting -
     You suspect me yet?

     Not in drunken tea
     Of glory - strong's my soul.
     And my exchequer is not small!
     Under your finger
     Like bread of the Lord
     We are broken up,
     We are being milled.


     x x x
     Brother in the songtime woe -
     I am envying you.
     Let it be fulfilled this way -
     In separate room to die! -
     How many years? Century?
     Is the dream of every day.


     -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --
     And not pity: little lived,
     And no anguish: little gave.
     He who lived in our days, lived
     A lot: he who gave a song - all gave.
     To live (only not newer
     Than death!) here across the veins.
     For some one thing this exists -
     Hooks upon the ceiling.



Conversation with a Genius


     With blocks - on forehead
     Resides the laurel.
     "I cannot sing"
     "You will" - "Vanished, fell

     (Translate into
     Oatmeal!)
     Sound from the chest -
     Just like milk.

     Empty and dry.
     In full spring -
     Feeling's a bitch."
     "An old song!

     Throw, don't confuse!"
     "Better I go -
     Pound a stone"
     "And to sing now"

     "What am I, bullflinch
     In the day to sing?"
     "Do not be able to,
     Bird, but sing!

     To spite the foe!"
     "That just lines, two
     I cannot parse?"
     "Who ever could?!"

     "Torture!" - "Endure!"
     "Meadow mown down -
     Gullet!" - "Wheeze:
     That too is sound!"

     "Business of lions
     Not of wives." - "Kids:
     Broken apart -
     Orpheus did sing!"

     "Thus in a coffin?"
     "A board underneath."
     "I cannot sing"
     "So you sing this!"



To Mayakovsky



     1
     That the world would not die
     Without desperate men,
     Be, baby Vladimir, ruler
     Of world from end to end.


     2
     Literary - not in it is
     Truth, but here - spill blood!
     It comes out every seven days.
     Departed - once in a hundred

     Years it comes. Killed is the first
     Soldier. Which, capital,
     Missives to you, which
     Article to you still?

     Gold - to a bourgeois:
     This is to us, dear.
     "Bass, they say, and walks in vests.
     Mayakovsky, Vladimir"...

     Hey, blood-your-blood!
     How to make peace with the news,
     When the blood of her first
     Soldier - on second page
     (Of the news).


     3

     "In the coffin, in the usual dark suit,
     in steady, rough shoes, shod with
     iron, lies the greatest poet of the
     Revolution." - One-day Newspaper, April 24 1920.

     In the boots shod with iron
     In the boots in which he took the mountain -
     Not with any detour or redirection
     Having reached the crossing -

     Over a run of twenty years
     Until they were shining, spent.
     Mountain of the proletarian Sinai,
     On which he as the prophet stands,

     That the resident office would not meddle
     In the boots - a two-foot living square -
     In the boots, in which, wearing a frown,
     He carried the mountain - and took - and sang - and swore -

     In the boots before, without refusal
     By the untilled fields of October,
     In the boots - almost like water-climber:
     Infantryman, speaking clearer:

     In the boots of a great hike,
     On the Donbass, I do fear, nails.
     Of hundred ten million (State Publications)
     Mountain of the grief of own people...

     In which kind, I'm asking you with honor,
     Of one's own, when is which year:
     "Nothing of one's own in the factory!"
     Burning mountain of all the peoples - here.

     Thus in these - about his Rolls-Royces
     Talk has not gone silent at this time -
     To dead pioneers he shouted: Take formation!
     In the boots - witnesses to the crime.


     4

     The lovers' boat broke against life.

     And a bet one would not place
     Upon a leader such as this.
     Comrade, comrade, this your boat
     From what dictionary is?

     Still within the lovers' boat
     Thrown one's head back - a scandal!
     Razin - what here does not suit you?
     Better mastered life, withal.

     This novelty - medicine
     Bursting, what is your faucet?
     Fellow, not like proletarian
     You behave, what's with you yet?

     It was worth in gods and mother
     Us, that - not the dawn, the blood!
     The white undercoat of class
     To turn over toward the end.

     Like a cadet, at the Toska
     From despair having shot!
     Fellow! Not like Mayakovky
     You're behaving, like a shah.

     With a cap upon your brow
     And - farewell, my dear one!
     You ended as great-grand-father
     Having lived as great-grand-son.

     And again, like on the checkup
     We will go - shame'll eat you, son:
     You the Soviet-Russian Werther,
     Gesture noble-Russian.

     Earlier - to police station,
     Now... My enemy, dear one!
     There are no new lover's boats
     Underneath the shining moon.


     5
     Like only by enemies,
     In the very soul - a shot.
     This today, the final temple
     Is destroyed by foe of God.

     Having not yet oriented,
     Went to sleep, reaching the spot.
     Heart began now beating, beating,
     Stop, within the trace of shot.

     (An abroad, within the meeting:
     "Incident! What a land mine!
     This means - there is a heart also?
     And with our own, the same one?"

     A shot - in the very spot now,
     Like into the aim of market.
     (Often - the left lobe
     Having shaved - with wife in bed. )

     Hotshot! You did not miss target!
     And this for the woman - what!
     And Helen a lousy creature
     You will call, having thought.

     By but one thing, but completely,
     The Left poet surprised us so:
     Only to the right and knowing
     How to shoot, and left did go.

     In the right - would that the lancet
     Shine - and healthy is your chef.
     Well, the self-same Central Singer:
     A shot in the door on left!


     6
     The Soviet grandee,
     Under full Sinod...
     "Hello, Sergei!"
     "Hello, Volodya!"

     "Got tired?" "Just little"
     "By common?" "My own yet."
     "Did it shoot?" "Habitually."
     "Did it burn?" "Excellent."

     "Thus maybe it lived?"
     "Pass in which type, here."
     "Not so good, Sergei!"
     "Not so good, Vladimir!

     And do you remember,
     How in your pop
     Bass you did curse me?"
     "Well, now, stop...

     Thus here a boat
     Is this lovers' boat!
     Not from a skirt?"
     "It's worse from vodka -

     A bloated face.
     From that time on platoon here?
     Not so good, Sergei."
     "Not so good, Vladimir.

     And maybe - not razor -
     Is worked out cleanly.
     Thus beaten is card
     Completely?" "It trickles."

     "Apply now the plaintain"
     "It's good and collodium.
     Let's apply it, Sergei?"
     "Let's apply, Volodya."

     And what is in Russia -
     The mother? "Where's it?"
     "In USSR
     What is new?" "They build

     The parents give birth,
     The harmful ones sharpen,
     The publishers drive and
     The writers are writing.

     The new bridge is laid
     And washed out with half-water.
     It's all the same, Sergei!"
     "It's the same, Vladimir

     And the singing flock?
     "People, know, winding
     Our ground laurels
     Like rod of the dead ones.

     The old Rost
     With tomorrow's lacquer.
     You will not do with
     Just one Pasternak here.

     Let's apply the arms
     To that there lack of water?
     Let's apply them, Sergei?
     "Let's apply, Vladimir!

     Still bows to you now...
     "And what's the kind, our
     Lsan Alexandrovich?"
     "There -angel!" "Fyodor

     Kuzmich?" "On the canal:
     By the red cheeks
     He went." "Nikolai Gumilev?"
     "On the East

     (On the complete dray,
     In matting bloody...)
     "Still the same, Sergei"
     "Still the same, Volodya.

     And still this the same,
     Volodya dear friend -
     Let's apply the hands
     Though there are no hands

     Volodya." "Though there is none,
     My dear brother Sergei,
     Underneath this kingdom
     Let's place a grenade!

     And on the sunset
     By us bothered
     Let's place it, Sergei!"
     "Let's place it, Vladimir!"


     7
     He destroyed many temples,
     And this - more precious than all.
     Accept, Lord, your deceased enemy's soul.



Poems to Pushkin



     1
     Scourge of gendarmes, god of students,
     Bile of husbands and wives' sweetness,
     Pushkin - in a monument's role?
     In a role of a stone guest?

     Bare-toothed, looking like dare,
     Pushkin - in role of commander?

     Critic - whining, whiner - speaking:
     "Where is Pushkin's (weeping)
     Sense of measure?" Feeling - having
     Forgotten sea - beating

     On the granite? Salty one,
     Pushkin - in role of lexicon?

     His two legs having stretched out
     To warm, and upon the table
     Having jumped before the tyrant
     African man of free will -

     Killing of our great-grandfathers -
     Pushkin - in role of governor?

     Negro can't be painted over
     Can't correct it into white!
     Not bad is the Russian classic,
     Having once African sky

     Called his own, cursed the Nieva's!
     Pushkin - in role of Russia-lover?

     O you, the bearded augurs!
     Would have given to you the ball
     He who rhymed the tsar's censorship
     With the creep, and for it all

     "Europe's messenger" - with...
     Pushkin - in role of gravedigger?

     To the jubilee of Pushkin
     We will at this time give word:
     Ruddier than all and tanner
     Till this time in all the world,

     Livelier than all and living!
     Pushkin - in role of mausoleum?

     By the cabins of Pushkin
     You model, that're trash - themselves!
     Like from shower! Like from cannon -
     At the Pushkin's nightingales

     Words, the flight of falcons!
     Pushkin - in role of a gun!

     From the scream the ears are popping:
     "In a row before Pushkin!"
     Where did they leave the red of lips,
     Where did they leave the Pushkin's

     Mutiny? Lips' cursed pleasure?
     Pushkin - in the Pushkin's measure!

     Having placed tomes in the bookcase -
     You will bring laughter to him,
     Having mixed your refugeeness
     With his white insanity!

     White-bloodedness of brain, blueness
     Of morgue - with Negro's leer, a throat
     To the seeming...

     Would you, O the Copper Horseman,
     On all hooves behind come leap.
     Poor Vanya was a coward,
     But he - is not cowardly.

     He, looking in all directions -
     In Tatyana's role, one's own?

     What are you doing, you crows,
     This - pigeons' olives -
     The most free, the most far-out
     Forehead - having branded for centuries

     With the two-pieces gone low
     Of the middle and the gold?

     "Pushkin - toga, Pushkin - scheme,
     Pushkin - measure, Pushkin - frame..."
     Pushkin, Pushkin, Pushkin - like
     Invective is noble name

     Scream of parrots - of the square.

     Pushkin? We're very full of fear!


     2

     PETER AND PUSHKIN
     Not with fleet, not with sweat, not with back
     In patches, not with Swede at the feet,
     Not with growth - from any row,
     Not - to all there is time - with the drift,

     Not with lot, not with boat, not with German
     Through smoke of the stoves beer,
     And not even with Peter-wonder
     His own (his own deed of Peter!)

     And would there be little of big one
     (God gave, not a burden is man!)
     When he could not bear Hannibal-Arab
     Onto the white Russian land.

     This African into learning
     Having taken, the noses of Russians
     Having wiped and insisted - there's light
     In Russia from Negro grandson!

     The turning one he would not have
     In the string! "Onto freedom? Instead!
     He was such a chamber officer
     As I'm king of masquerade!"

     Having learned, not with foam, not with pumice
     Of Africa - literary tsar
     Would've decided: "From now of your African
     Passions I am a censor."

     And having hit him on curly
     Neck (cut - not cut!) "Go, son,
     Onto a short little visit
     Into the wilds African!

     Sail - and be sad of nothing!
     There's someone into sails to blow!
     If you'll get bored - come back to me,
     If not - forget even the door!

     Order: having abandoned
     Icy fogs - inch, an inch behind
     To trace the hot countries
     And with a verse to describe."

     And past the retinue placed there,
     Left behind - at the warehouse, straight,
     A giant, having left the poet,
     Ran - on or over the land?

     The tan-faced one not on Russian
     Snow - the snow's Ismael!
     He, now, with the archives
     The foreign bird did not kill!

     He, not on the fast Slavic blood,
     He is a mestizo also!
     You, now, on the homeland archives
     Of him simply would not sour!

     He would have made peace with you!
     For the unforced bow
     Complained by Nicholas,
     By Peter would be granted so!

     The gendarmes' search he would not cover
     With "homeland of feelings"!
     He would for you - a demon
     Glance! - not freeze the lips.

     He would not crumple Poltavan
     Ends, would not blunt the pen.
     For what as unworthy descendant -
     As a creep - Peter's agaric - was sent

     Into Romanian area
     And with it - by him was granted -
     He killed his shy son, having shyness
     Of man so much hated.

     "This chaff - I? Here
     Now grow, having been born!"
     His true son was the Negro,
     As his true great-grandson

     You'll remain. The pact of equals.
     And having not asked for alms here
     The great-grandson of giant's godson
     Peter's spirit made its heir.

     And step, and the lightest of the light
     Glances, to which it's light now...
     The final - posthumous - immortal
     Peter's gift to Russia.


     3

     (MACHINE)
     All his science is -
     Might. It's light - and I look:
     The hand of Pushkin
     I press, do not lick.

     Friend to great-grandfather:
     In the same old shop!
     Like with one's own hand
     Each and every blot.

     Under piles - to a free one?
     To me, in wonders' cauldron
     Weight that is exploring
     Bracket open,

     Minding written notes -
     Meaning, than all more brief.
     There's not greater search
     Than relationship!

     It was sung - is sung
     And now - it is so.
     We know how it's "given"!
     Over you we know,

     "Trifle" - how it sweated!
     Out of you, O stroke,
     How I wanted forest -
     Ball - and sleigh - I know...

     And how - sleep I wanted!
     How above love's flower -
     I know, how it creaked
     With teeth of Negro!

     Feathers on alert -
     I know how he fixed!
     Fingers have not dried yet
     From his ink!

     And midst tallow candles,
     Midst card games, I know
     How it shook! From naked
     Shoulders, from mirrors,

     From the glasses beaten
     On the floor -
     How it ran on naked
     Table I know!

     Battle, without evil:
     Of self with self, I knew!
     Do not beat with Pushkin!
     With him I'm beating you!


     4
     Conquest
     Of inertness Russian -
     Genius of Pushkin?
     Pushkin's muscle

     On the fate's carcass
     Of the sperm whale -
     Muscle of flight,
     Running,
     Struggle.

     With morning languor
     Vigorously having battled!
     Of a long walk,
     Of running equal -

     Muscle. A muscle
     Of flights the steppe over,
     Of boat that bears
     Through whirlwind to the shore.

     Not burdened
     With blood Russian -
     O, not a camel's
     Or ox's vein

     (From under the belt
     He did work hard!) -
     Mine is the muscle
     Of horse's heart.

     Prettier than ever -
     More ballast!
     Muscle of acrobat
     And gymnast,

     That on the rope
     Of one's own tendons
     From casemate -
     Flew as a falcon!

     Pushkin - from guiding
     Of monarch's hands
     Beating, like beats
     To the death

     (Might - arrived,
     Strength did grow)
     With muscle of shaft
     Muscle of oar.

     Someone, having carried
     On cart: "Of athlete
     Musculature is this,
     Not of poet!"

     That was the strength
     Of an angel:
     Wing's muscle
     Unbreakable.


     (POET AND TSAR)

     1(5)
     With other-sided
     Tsar's hall. -
     And is this one not
     Unbowed, of marble?

     In ornaments' gold
     So grandly framed. -
     A pitiful gendarme
     Of Pushkin's fame.

     He ran down the author,
     Cut text writ by hand.
     A brutal butcher
     Of Polish land.

     Look more intensely!
     And do remember:
     Tsar Nicholas the First
     Is the first-born's
     Murderer.


     2(6)
     No, the drum beat before the dark brigade
     When the chief we did inter:
     The teeth of the tsar over the dead singer
     Beat out the drill of honor.

     Such is the honor, that for closest friends
     There's no space. At the head, feet - arms,
     To the sides - on the right, on the left -
     Are chests and mugs of gendarmes.

     Is this not a wonder - in quietest box
     A supervised boy now to be?
     Like something, like something, like something it is
     His honor, honored - overly!

     Look, now, the country, how in spite of the talk
     Monarch dotes over the poet!
     Honorably - honorably - honorably - arch-
     Honorably - honorably - to hell yet!

     Whom then this way - like a thief, shot to death
     They bore over the land?
     A traitor? No. Through the gatekeeper's yard -
     The smartest of Russian men.


     3(7)
     The people's power, having overthrown the throne,
     Not celebrated - friction:
     To executioners not to allow burial
     Of victims, the burial of Pushkin

     To censors. In the unassigned time,
     In prevention of strife.
     Not to bear under the (great!) noise
     Over the route of the thief -

     Not to doom to the final dark,
     The complete deaf-and-dumbness
     Of the body, cropped as such
     With scissors - in the poems.



Country


     With the flashlight turn the world
     Under moon into a ball!
     On the map or in the space there's
     No such country, not at all.

     Drank like from a saucer,
     And the bottom shines.
     Can one come back home
     To a house that's gone?

     In the newer country
     Once again be born!
     On the spine of horse
     That threw you, return

     Now at last! The bones
     Are the whole - although?
     To such a guest
     Breadmaker - the broken

     Slices, carpenter -
     Will not sell the coffin!
     He - for the uncounted
     Miles, kingdoms of heaven,

     Such, where on the coins
     Is the youth of me,
     There's no such a Russia -

     There's no such a me.



Ode to Walking



     1
     In the century of giant,
     Fateful speeds -
     Glory to sturdy brotherhood
     Of the walkers' feet!
     Tightly, all-terrain,
     Straight, without roads,
     Mightily beating down
     The nature's threshold,

     Daringly violated by century.
     (In time of dynamos and turbines
     Only to live, as invalids!)
     But to you avenging

     Over the advertisement stamps
     On the chest reared and fed.
     No, the footless tribe,
     Reach distance with your feet!

     Glory to the thick soles,
     With the nails, boots,
     To walkers, speed-runners -
     To in boots shod gods!

     If there's ode in the world
     To god of strength and peaks -
     It's the look of the walker
     At the motor that's stuck.

     Grin in all fifteen inches,
     Than the face it's wider:
     Popping is look of walker
     Upon the tire.

     Look now at the torso
     Shattered by arrogance!
     Alcoholics of distance,
     Parasites of wide space -

     That through dusty cloud
     Of arm-dancing mobs
     Break apart. An occurrence?
     Of one's foolishness post.


     2
     Here's he, sword of the dreamers,
     Lash of loads on the spine!
     Casting beauty, like rapist,
     From its feet: to lie down!

     He won't answer and lie down -
     Like a bed - like a grave -
     But he won't show the face
     And the soul will not give

     Back... He'll give you back nothing
     Not July, not April -
     O the eyeless, bespectacled,
     Lacquered null!

     Creator of trouble
     Between South and North!
     (Records of speed:
     Emptiness) your Fords.

     Your Rollses and Royces -
     That old snake, flattery!
     Son! Be fearful of God,
     To trudge feet he told thee.

     Precious dolls from Oper
     And Madeleine, to you
     In exchanged for the lacquered
     Boat - quiet shoes

     Of the dead. O,
     The lie so cold
     Of the mannikin blocks,
     The unstepped-upon soles!

     Glory to God in heaven -
     God of strength, God of tsars -
     For granite and crushed stone,
     For the quartz and the spar,

     Under silicon hoof
     Change given in cash...
     And for this that he made me
     Walking marvel in flesh.


     3
     Growing cozy in sponging,
     From a tire hurries grandson.
     Walkers! Hold to your feet
     Like great-grandfathers - arms.

     Where there's boundary for rubber -
     There for legs there is space.
     Room for breath in the bosom
     When there's not enough gas!

     Like a flood Prague is thirsty,
     Thus thirsts thrill of expense.
     Do not dare teach the children
     Anything but the steps!

     By the streams, by the seashores,
     Ahead - no! Ahead - stop!
     That with feet the savannas
     You knew, with knees the Alps.

     For the openings of schools,
     Friends, I'll kick my two bones
     That from the first step
     To the last - my grandson

     Went! Muscle, putting
     Hades to shame! My offshoot!
     That in kingdom of mollusks -
     On my own two feet!



Elderberry


     Elderberry fills the whole garden!
     Elderberry is green, green,
     Greener, than mold on the vat!
     Greener, than summer at the start!
     Elderberry - till the end of days!
     Elderberry greener than my eyes!

     And after - through the night - with the fire
     Of Rostov! - it is red in the eyes
     From the trill of bubbly elderberry.
     Redder than measles on one's own body
     In all your times, azure,
     Measles that scatters and pours

     Of elderberry - till winter, till winter!
     That in small berry sweeter
     Than poison, what are dissolved paints!
     Of red cotton, sealing wax and Hades
     Mix, a shimmer of corral beads,
     And a taste of baked blood.

     Elderberry has been killed, has been killed!
     Elderberry the whole hall filled
     With blood of young and pure,
     With blood of branches of fire -
     With the blood most merry -
     With blood of heart of you and me...

     And later - grain's waterfall will be,
     And later - black is elderberry:
     With plum something, sticky something.
     Over the gate, moaning with violin,
     Near the house, which is empty,
     Is lonely bush of elderberry.

     Elderberry, without mind, without mind,
     Of your beads, elderberry, am I!
     Steppe - to Mongol, Caucasus - to Georgian will go,
     To me - elderberry bush under window
     Give. Instead of Arts Palace, only
     Give this bush of elderberry.

     Newcomers in my country -
     From the berry - elderberry,
     My ruddy childhood thirst,
     From the tree and from the word:
     Elderberry (till this day - at nights...),
     Poison - sucked in by the eyes...

     Elderberry is red, is red!
     Elderberry - took the whole land
     In its paws. In power, my childhood all.
     Something like passion criminal,
     Elderberry, between you and me
     Century's disease - elderberry

     I would call...



x x x


     Despair for homeland! Long ago
     Exposed torment! To me
     It is completely all the same
     Where completely lonely to be,

     By which stones on the road home
     With the bazaar knapsack to drag
     Home, not knowing, that it's mine,
     Like hospital or a barrack.

     It's same to me, among which faces
     Like an imprisoned lion to bristle,
     And from among which people's midst
     To be forced out - without fail -

     Into oneself, into individual feelings.
     As polar bear without ice floe
     Where not to live - it's the same to me
     (And I don't dare) - where to go low.

     I won't be tempted by the milky
     Call of my own native tongue.
     It is the same to me on which
     To be not sensed by meeting ones.

     (To reader of newspaper tons,
     To gulper, milker of rumors.) He
     Is of the twentieth century,
     And I - without a century!

     Grown petrified just like a log
     Remaining only of an alley,
     They're all the same, it's all the same,
     And maybe most the same - to me -

     Dearer than everything that was.
     All marks from me, all signs that were,
     All dates - brushed off as if by hand:
     Soul, that had once been born - somewhere.

     Thus my land did not keep me there,
     That the detective most keen
     Along the soul, across it all!
     The birthmark has not sought or seen!

     Alien is home, temple - empty,
     And all's the same and one to me.
     But if along the road a bush
     Rises, especially - ashberry...



x x x


     The time did not think of a poet,
     And I don't care to think of him.
     God be with him, with noise and thunder,
     He did not come within my time!

     If time has not time for ancestors,
     I've no time for grandsons as well.
     My time's my bane, my time's my damage,
     My time's my foe, my time is hell.



x x x


     They cut
     Ashberry
     Keen.
     Ashberry -
     Is bitter
     Fortune.
     Ashberry -
     With gray-haired
     Descents 
     Ashbery!
     Fortune
     Russian.



To Fathers



     1
     In the world bellowing:
     Glory to the coming!
     What whispers in me:
     Glory to the gone be!

     To you, passing,
     That won't counted be,
     Not bearing children,
     Preceding me.

     With brush, with key
     They argued, with deed
     Written - pure
     Was their life, with honor.

     White - than treasures
     Of snow more fair! -
     A novel - your
     Conscience's - hair.


     2
     Generation with lilac
     And on Easter in Kremlin,
     My hello to generation
     In the earth to the knee,

     And with gray spots - in stars!
     Than the reed louder,
     To you, speaking: "so-ul"
     Will tremble the air.

     Only having saved the soul
     From wealth of family
     Without brotherhood or equals
     To older contemporaries,

     Arms of faith and of friendship,
     Like Caucasian - an ewer
     Full of grape! - to the foe
     Stretching out - the two!

     Not with Siren - with lilac
     Locked in cave with a key,
     Generation - with soaring!
     With gravity

     From the earth, over earth,
     From the grain and the worm!
     Generation - without soil,
     But with such - to bottom,

     With seen bottom's abyss.
     That from orbits sunken
     Looks as if one alive
     Like a pleasant virgin.

     Generation, where he looked
     The best who suffered the most!
     Continuation of mirrors.
     Generation! I'm yours!

     Yours - in physique and essence,
     And respect for the mind,
     And contempt for the flesh's
     Dress dissolving with time!

     You - to the child doomed
     A poet to be,
     Having persuaded to honor
     All but ringing money:

     All gods - all times - all tribes
     Except the god Vaal!
     My immortal bow
     Generation with fall!

     To you, that with one unheard of
     Were able to - live,
     To you, that among noisy ball
     Were able to - love!

     Having turned to the stars
     Till the hour final -
     Departing race,
     Gratitudes to you all!



x x x


     Not a warrior of two camps, but - if occasional guest -
     Like a bone in throat - guest, like a nail in sole - guest.
     I was given a head - on it knocked two hammers:
     For some - profit and for others - meanness.

     You from this head - to creator's wonder
     My proletarian patience add -
     You from this head - what did you demand? - lechery!
     Wondering at the insistent answer: cut off the head.

     You from this head, leveled - like rows
     Of mountains, divine draft writ in heights,
     You from this head - what did you demand? - Row.
     Wondering at the answer (speechless): cut off the feet!

     You from this head, tuned - like a lyre:
     On the highest kind: lyrical... - No, stand!
     Two builders: Homebuilder and Dnieperbuilder - for choosing!
     Wondering at the insane answer: Lyres - build. And

     From this head, from the forehead of gray granite,
     You demanded: love us! Hate them all!
     Is it not the same for her, from which side it's beaten,
     To be muffled from which profile of the soul?

     There are times, there are times, when the heads are not needed.
     But to reduce the word to the beets used for feed -
     More honest with Orpheus' head - serenades!
     Herodias with John the Baptist's head!

     You're a tsar: live alone... (But tsars have concubines'
     Minute). God is one. He - in empty skies.
     Not a warrior of two camps: judge - prophet - hostage -
     Freedom fighter of two! Spirit - for freedom fights.



Readers of Newspapers


     The underground snake crawls,
     Crawls, carries people.
     And each - with his own
     Newspaper (with his own
     Eczema!) Newspaper
     Bone eater, chewing tick.
     Readers of newspapers,
     Chewers of mastics.

     Who's the reader? Old man? Athlete?
     Soldier? Not features, not years,
     Not faces. Skeleton - since no
     Face: sheet of newspaper!
     Which - entire Paris
     From navel to forehead wears!
     Enough, girl! You'll give birth to -
     Reader of newspaper.

     Rock - "lives with sister" -
     ing - "his father he killed!" -
     Rocking - of vanity
     Pumped themselves full.

     What do such men care
     If it is dusk or dawn?
     Swallowers of voids,
     Newspaper-reading ones!

     Read newspapers: slander,
     Read newspapers: waste.
     A column - calumny,
     A paragraph - disgust...

     With what on Terrible court
     In the light you'll appear!
     Seizers of minutes, you
     Readers of newspapers!

     He went! Vanished! Got lost!
     Old is the mother's fear.
     Mom! Guttenberg's press than
     Schwartz's dust is scarier.

     Better on churchyard
     Than in hospital of pus
     To cast scratchers of scabs,
     Readers of newspapers!

     Who is it that rots our sons
     In their prime of years?
     Mixers of blood, they are,
     Writers of newspapers!

     Here, friends, - and where
     Stronger than in these lines!
     What do I think, where
     With writing in my palms

     I stand before the face -
     There is no emptier space!
     That means - not with face
     Of editor of news -

     Paper filth.



Poems to Orphans



     Baby walked along the road
     Shivering and turning blue
     An old woman walked that road
     She took pity on the orphan...


     1
     Icy tiara of mountains -
     Is a frame to sight transitory.
     On the castle's granite today
     I traced parting to ivy.

     I have chased today on all roads
     Towering figures of pines.
     I have taken a tulip today
     Like a child to the chin.


     2
     With surrounding of mountains I hug you,
     With the granite crown of rocks.
     (That you breathe easier and sleep tighter
     I am busying you with talk.)

     With the sides of a feudal castle,
     With the ivy hands of down -
     You know - in four hundred streams and rivers
     Is the ivy, hugging the stone?

     But I'm not woodbine - and not ivy!
     Even you, dearer than my hand,
     Are not flattened - and freely let out
     Onto every side of my mind!

     Round the flower-bed, round the well too,
     Where to gray-haired ones stone will come,
     With the round pledge of an orphan -
     With the loneliness my round!

     (Thus not one silver braid did weave
     Into my light-brown braids!)
     And with river, into two parting -
     Island to create - and embrace.

     With entire Savoy and Piedmont
     And - cracking the ridge a bit -
     I embrace you with blue horizon,
     With two arms I embrace you yet.


     3

     (CAVE)
     If I could - I would take you
     Into the womb of a cave:
     Into the cave of a dragon,
     Into the panther's grove.

     Into the panther's - paws -
     If I could - I would take, so.
     To bosom of nature, to bed of nature.
     If I could - my own skin of panther
     I'd take off... I would give in the grove - to study!
     In bushy, in firry, in streamy, in ivy -

     Where in darkness, in dusk, and in dreaming
     Branches weave for eternal weddings!

     Where in granite, in milk and in bast
     For centuries intertwine arms -
     Like branches - and rivers...

     Into cave without light, without trace into thicket.
     In leaves, in ivy, in ivy - like in coat...

     Not white light, not black bread: in dew
     In leaves, in leaves - like in relationship too...

     That did not knock on the door,
     That henceforth did not happen,
     That did not shout in window,
     That for century didn't end!

     But not enough - cave,
     And not enough - grove!
     If I could - I would take you
     Into the womb of a cave.

     If I could -
     I would take.


     4
     On the ice floe -
     Loved one,
     On the mine -
     Loved one,
     On the ice floe, in Guyana, in Gehennah - loved one.

     In the scab - desired one,
     From churchyard - desired one:
     Be a desired guest! Only teeth and bone - desired one!

     With the under-knees angst
     Till ruined darkness

     With the last seizure of smoke - pitied one.
     And there's no such hole, and there's no such abyss:
     Loved one! Wished one! Pitied one! Full of illness!


     5
     With rapid speech - with stream of water
     Beating: - Loved one! Sick one! Dear!

     With recitation - lingering blues:
     Weak! Half-alive! Paper! See-through!

     With lengthwise cut from stomach to pharynx:
     Loved one! Wished one! Pitied one! Full of illness!


     6
     Finally I've encountered
     One that I do need:
     Somebody possesses
     Deadly need of me.

     What to eye is rainbow,
     Ground to the grain,
     To man - is being needed
     By another man.

     I need more than rainbow,
     More than rain or hand,
     Need of this my hand
     By another man.

     This - wider than Ladoga
     Than mountain more true -
     Is need of my hand
     By another's wound.

     And for that with ulcer
     Palm had brought to me -
     This my hand - immediately
     In fire after thee!


     <7>
     In thoughts of another, otherwise,
     Like a treasure chest not found,
     Step by step, poppy by poppy -
     Garden's I cut off the head.

     Thus, sometime in a dry summer,
     On the very edge of field,
     Death my head will sever
     With an absent-minded hand.



x x x


     "It's time! I'm old for this fire!"
     "Older than me is love-desire!"
     "All fifty years has this hill!"
     "Love's older than that hill still:
     Old like a snake, old like a plant,
     Older than ambers of Livan,
     Older than all the ghostly boats,
     Older than seas, older than stones...
     But agony that's in the chest -
     In years, love's less, in years, love's less.



x x x



     "I dressed the table for the six"
     I still convey the word and still
     The first one verse I do repeat:
     "I dressed the table for the six"...
     But seventh one you did forget.

     It is not merry for us six.
     On faces are the streams of rain 
     How could you over such a table
     Forget the seventh - seventh one 

     It is not merry for the guests,
     Idle is pitcher of crystal,
     Sad are they all, sad are you too,
     But saddest is the one uncalled.

     It is not merry and not light.
     Ah! You don't drink and do not eat.
     How could you have forgotten this?
     How could you have erred in the count?

     How could you, dared, not understand,
     That six (two brothers, the third -
     You, with wife, father and mother) there
     Are seven - that I'm in this world?

     You dressed the table for the six,
     But with six the world did not die.
     More than the scarecrow midst the live
     I want to be a ghost - with (mine),

     Yours... Shy just like a thief,
     O - never touching but a soul! -
     Behind the silverware unmade
     I sit as seventh one, uncalled.

     At once! I overthrew the glass!
     An all that thirsted to be poured -
     All salt from eyes, all blood from wounds -
     From tablecloth - on the floorboards.

     And - there's no coffin! No - parting!
     Broken is spell, wakes up the home.
     Like death - onto the wedding feast,
     I'm - life, that to dinner have come.

     And I still scold, for nobody -
     Not brother, husband, son or friend:
     "You, dressed the table for six souls,
     Did not seat me upon the end."                         

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