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Мария Генриховна Визи

[1960s]

619. Дмитрий Кленовский (1893–1976). «Как много есть прекрасного на свете…»

There s such a wealth of beauty in the world: a maiden’s breast, a flying eagle's wing, loaf of a maple, sunrise in Rialto, a lily-of-the-valley in the spring; a leaping doe; the Milky Way, a sail, the Volga's great expanse, a child's eyes… You see yourself: too many things to mention for you and me to count or to surmise. And yet is life not easier for knowing that everywhere around you children roam, and maples grow, and there are waves, and maidens, or simply someone's garden and a home? You say to me: All that is transient, passing! But you are wrong! Next spring, in that green bower, another doe will leap again, as lightly, and underfoot will bloom another flower! Our world is ill. It whispers invocations and tries to smother what in life is true. But nowhere in it stands a ruined building where grass will not come up anew.

[1960s]

620. Дмитрий Кленовский (1893–1976). «He камешком в мозаиках Равенны…»

No pebble in ravenna's sculptured tomb, nor crimson paint-dab in the Vatican, — I merely was a wisp of merry spume upon the ocean's blue and distant span. But when a sail came toward me, I would swirl to meet it; I have played with reefs near land, caressed the body of a sun-tanned girl, and, tired, dug into the golden sand. My fleeting course no great event did jar; for one chance moment was my fate unfurled, yet I was happier and richer far than all the tombs and castles of the world.

[1960s]

621. Дмитрий Кленовский (1893–1976). «Высох ключ, струившийся в овраге…»

Dry the source that ran in the ravine. Hot the noon. But take a look again: in the hollow stump, some moisture still — fusty water left there by the rain. Playing with your twig — be very careful not ot splash it out around the brink — even though it's pitifully scanty, someone still may need it for a drink! After dawn tomorrow some small creature — squirrel, hedgehog — may come by this rill and may drink. You too — who knows what happens? — yet may taste it in a final thrill.