Читать «A moongate in my wall: собрание стихотворений» онлайн - страница 158

Out-of-doors — the murky winter light, frosty moon, and stillness of the night. Hut your window has been covered long with a screen, reliable and strong. Out-of-doors, above the house and tower fearful is the moon this chosen hour. Yet you sleep, the moon you do not heed: you are dreaming other dreams indeed. Out-of doors, beneath the moonlight glow, stubborn guard, I wander to and fro. But it is not joys of love that fill your illusions in the midnight still.

[1930]

631. Ирина Одоевцева (1895–1990). «Скользит слеза из-под усталых век…»

То М.Кгuzenshtern

From tired lid, a tear crawls down my cheek. Coins jangle on the church collection tray. No matter what we pray for, what we seek, it's always for a miracle we pray. That two times two make five instead of four, and straw would turn into a rose in bloom, that I be home, in my own house, once more, though there is no such thing as house or home. That from the churchyard mound where grasses sway you suddenly step out, alive and gay.

[1970s]

632. Валерий Перелешин (1913–1992). Неизбежное

Like some strange blessing that descends upon us, our kiss is full of fire and passion swift. And yet I know: a future day is coming when I will have to choose your wedding gift. So let it be: some shaken thrones will tumble, and mighty cities fall, and forest burn. Laws that are ironclad were once established, — once and for all they will remain stern. I’ve long outgrown all manner of partitions, of language, and of blood, and even race, and all those other age-old walls and fences with which a man surrounds his private place. Even today, I hate that coming hour when, speaking softly, you will say, «My dear! A temporary harbor may be lovely, but now it's time the ship should homeward steer. My destiny is clear, — you will explain, — I'm but a door where generations stand yet to be born, of small and slant-eyed people with yellow skin — as ever in my land». And you will leave forever, disappearing behind blank walls which I deny in vain, — in cold betrayal, though without betraying — into the cruel truth of your domain. No races, castes, or creeds… Wide as the sea, like that same sea, I will remain alone, wearily mirror someone else's dawns, and, longing for the East, complain and groan. Alone and free…But truly, what of that: I'm quite prepared, forsaking all desires, an unknown passerby, to be the last to warm my hands at other people's fires.