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Часть текста: Painted Ones Painted Ones Theyre "red" today, and theyre "white" tomorrow - Ah, no tapestry! No flowers, this! Tiresome to me to the point of nausea, Small people hideous and turned to beasts. Lowly today and tomorrow lowly, Today the thieves and tomorrow too. Vile scoundrels now and vile scoundrels formerly, Will provoke any revolt for you. Ideas foolish, dreams, all in vanity, That in their theory is way to god. They all are colorless in their entity - Today theyre "white" and tomorrow "red"!
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Часть текста: To One Different from Others To One Different from Others Youre in no way like other women at all: You have laughter controlled and expressive, You wear dresses measured and fashionably long And you slip out from my embraces. You do not cut your hair to look upscale, Deepen brows or wear make up, You have Smirnoff, but also a nightingale Who in nature becomes his replacement, You are able to see in the sugar the salt, And in just uttered word, a full sentence. In Akhmatova you value pain without halt And in Gumilev - charm and cadence. For you, connoisseur of all kinds of verse, Sharpness of Sologubov means something, And that you and Blok never did kiss You are grieving sixth summer and counting. And in your eyes, as they are now getting well - Ocean breeze and a rye field in season. Youre in no way like other women at all, And youve become my wife for that reason.
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Часть текста: Poem to Luminous Brother Poem to Luminous Brother To birds and to poets the Lord all their sustenance gives: I dont reap or sow, but for a second year I exist. And for kind song-poems the people whore also kind Will forgive your errors and sins, too, if any they find. Who needs the art now? Who needs it - I do not know, But to me its air, and I keep singing so. And radiant someone - not Russian, Estonian - stranger - An angel of God? Follows me and protects me from danger. In art he believes, and to me he is brimming with love: "Be yourself, poet: Sing all your songs, stay alive!" And like a poor bird, poet is glad of alms in his plight... O luminous brother, I sing you with song of delight!
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Часть текста: Classical Roses Classical Roses Once, when the dreams would bloom - the times were those - In peoples hearts, transparent and aflame, How fresh, how beautiful have been the roses Of my love, of my spring, and of my fame! The years have passed, many a tear flows - The country and its people all are lost. How fresh, how beautiful are now the roses Of memories of my delightful past! But days go by, and thunders in repose. Russia is seeking pathways to go home. How fresh, how beautiful will be the roses That my country will throw upon my tomb!