A moon gate in my wall: собрание стихотворений

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.

23 Jan. 1973

633. A.H. Плещеев (1825–1893). «Был у Христа младенца сад». Легенда [290]

The Christ Child had a garden once,
and many grew the roses there.
He gave them water twice a day,
so he could have a wreath to wear.

And when the roses came to bloom,

he called the children in, to share,
bach took a flower for himself,
and soon they left the garden bare.

«How will you make yourself a wreath?

There's not a rose on any bed!»
«You have forgotten that the thorns
are left for me», the Christ Child said.

And so they took the thorns and laid

a prickly wreath upon Him now,
and scarlet were the drops of blood,
instead of roses, on His brow.

1948

634. Владимир Смоленский (1901–1961). «Закрой плотнее дверь, глаза закрой…» [291]

Close tighter every door and close your eyes,
forget that you are living, think not then,
and let your blindness guard you from the skies
and deafness — from the noise of earthly men.

Know not of the beginning and the end —

and a new world before you will arise!
So in his coffin does a dead man send
a smile to visions hidden from our eyes.

29 June [1930]

635. Владимир Смоленский(1901–1961). «За ночами проходят дни…»