Читать «A moongate in my wall: собрание стихотворений» онлайн - страница 145

12 June [1928]

588. Александр Блок (1880–1921). «Я был смущенный и веселый…»

I was confused and glad of heart, your dark silk garments teased me sore. The heavy curtain swung apart, and voices hushed and spoke no more. A gleaming ring — the footlights — trace a wall of fire between us two, the music burns your very face, and brings a change in all of you. And so again the candles light, my soul alone is blind anew… Your bared shoulders glisten bright, the crowd of men is drunk with you… Star, you have left this world of mire, and far above the plain you stand… You raise your hand — a silver lyre is trembling in your outstretched hand.

[1928]

589. Александр Блок(1880–1921). «Какому Богу служишь ты?..»

Who is the God to whom you pray? Are you related in your flight to dreams that come before the night or anxiousness at break of day? Or, joined to a star, are you — yourself a goddess — with the rest proud of an equal beauty too, — with eyes devoid of interest Looking from strange heights up there down at the shadows touched with flame — oh, queen of purity, of prayer and earthly homage to your name?

[1928]

590. Александр Блок(1880–1921). Незнакомка

Above the restaurants, at twilight, where drunken shouts and laughter ring, the hot and putrid air is governed bv the impurities of spring. Above the dull suburban houses, above the dust of narrow streets, a gilded signboard faintly glitters, and infant's distant cry repeats. And every night, amidst the ditches, their bowlers jauntily pushed back, the city wits parade their ladies in fields beyond the railway track. Above the lake the squeak of oarlocks mingles with women's muffled screams, while in sky, surprised at nothing, the stupid disk forever beams. And nightly, in my glass reflected, my solitary friend I see, by this mysterious tangy potion subdued and quieted, like me; while next to us, at other tables, waiters look sleepily about, and drinkers, with their reddened eyelids, «In vino veritas!» will shout. And nightly, at the hour appointed (or do I dream that she exists?) a woman's form, in gleaming satins, moves in the window through the mists. And slowly walking past the drinkers, without an escort, as before, wafting a breath of mist and perfume, she finds a seat beside the door. The shining satin tight about her of strange and ancient legend sings, and so her hat, with mourning plumage, and slender hand with many rings. And caught within this sudden nearness, I gaze beyond her somber veil, and there enchanted shores discover, a faraway enchanted trail. With someone's secret I am trusted, a sun is given me to keep. Throughout the fissures of my soul the tangy wine begins to seep. Those ostrich feathers, dimly drooping, rock in my brain forever more. Blue eyes, so deep they have no bottom, now blossom on a distant shore. Within my heart there lies a treasure, and I possess the key, alone! You speak the truth, oh drunken monster: «In vino veritas» — I own.