head 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