A moon gate in my wall: собрание стихотворений

Burn in the foggy whiteness, burn,
burn in the fog of icy skies,
lighting the murky twilight stillness
with your bright body as it flies.

And soaring from the crowded heaven,

enter my crowding prison walls
through the slit window, like a bird,
to visit me when evening falls.

Soaring above decay and coldness,

incomprehensible, though near,
glide, circling from the vaulted ceiling
down to the dusty corners here,

that — even for the briefest moment!

and though I burn my fingers through —
I am allowed, in sweetest torment,
to touch the body that is you.

[1960s]

644. Владимир Смоленский(1901–1961). «Enormous world, embraced by sleep and dusk…» [300]

Enormous world, embraced by sleep and dusk,
in which we live so close we gasp for breath
not guessing the beginning or the end,
dreaming of happiness which conquers death.

This indestructible, poor mortal land!

But close your eyes: another lies beyond —
A world in which you are a midnight star
immobile in its speechlessness and bright,

— a world in which I am a limpid pool

whose face reflects your ever-shining light.
Above this world, that other will appear —
that's quite transparent, and quite simply clear.

[1960s]

645. Владимир Смоленский (1901–1961). «Как лебедь медленно скользящий…» [301]

A graceful swan that's slowly gliding
upon the mirror of the lake,
a falcon in the clouds abiding —
my dream-invented world is riding
in phantom imagery's wake.

Between its wings, unfurled and gleaming,

I slowly drift, not knowing where,
sweetly and languorously dreaming,
regretting nothing, nor redeeming,
melting in this transparent air.

And this prophetic voice of mine,

voice of my soul in dream's embrace,
above abysmal darkness flying,
is echoed hollowly, and, dying,
it disappears without a trace.

[1960s]

646. Владимир Смоленский(1901–1961). «They will live very crowded — this Earth like a jail they will crowd…» [302]

They will live very crowded — this Earth like a jail they will crowd,
Cod and hell and eternity even they all will deny,
and their houses of steel and concrete will reach up to the cloud,
and a huge zeppelin to the farthermost planet will fly.

And when over this world that is whirling the trumpet does sound,

and the firmament over this Earth opens wide like a gate,
and the lights all go out, and the graves open up in the ground,
none will then understand what is meant or believe anymore.

[1960s]

647. Владимир Смоленский(1901–1961). «В полночный час, когда луна…» [303]