Читать «A moongate in my wall: собрание стихотворений» онлайн - страница 156

[1960s]

622. Дмитрий Кленовский (1893–1976). «Прощаться всего трудней, потому…»

It's hardest of all to say goodbye, it is best to be alone to die. For no one at all to be near, instead just an empty room, a chair, a bed, not to see anyone sadly weep, not to have any small dog creep from under your bed to lick your cheek, or a sun ray come through a crack and peek, or a butterfly dart in the window So may it not be spring when I have to go! May I die in the night! When a single star may fall… and another… again… How far easier, maybe, to go away down such an utterly empty way.

[1960s]

623. Дмитрий Кленовский (1893–1976). «Я растерял их по пути…»

I lost them all along the way, those words 1 failed to clothe in sound. Like swallows on a winter day, never again can they be found. I didn't show them much concern, so they departed, taking wing. And yet perhaps they will return to others, in some future spring?

[1960s]

624. Дмитрий Кленовский (1893–1976). В комнате умершего

Yes, now it's empty here… His silhouette is gone, it isn't at the desk, nor in the easy-chair. I his stillness! And the thought that he is here no more How can you justify, how can you call it fair? And yet — don't weep! And leave this vacant room! Go down the stairs, stand by the window-pane, look hard into the fading blue of dawn. You see — that's he, there, striding down the lane! Don't try to call — you cannot bring him back! But know: he lives, his life will never end. He had been visiting, and has gone off once more. Listen — he's singing! Far…around the bend.

[1960s]

625. Довид Кнут (1900–1955). Я не умру и разве может быть

I shall not die. Nor can it be, I know, that earth without me in the gladsome space would draw its thread of fire and ever go along its senseless and its joyful race. It cannot be that after I am gone the earth would blossom, wilt, and roll ahead among the worlds, that trees would rustle on, that snow would circle, after I was dead! It cannot happen. I assure you. I will stubbornly continue on my course, and when the awful hour has come to die will push the coffin's lid with all my force, and I will shout: I do not want it so! I need to feel this gladness that is blind! Shoulder to shoulder with my sweet to go! To give the sun whatever name I find! No in a stuffy box you cannot lay one who has spurned all I want to live, and I shall live, I say and…