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Свежий номер

No. 7-8, 2004


Стихи на иностранных языках






* * *

Do winds change their directions,
Does it depend on a mind —
Or something in your collection
You have to remove and refind?
Do faces show reflection, —
Like wings of a big butterfly,
Or maybe your heart needs connection
To form any other claims?
Does memory have any cellars
Or maybe attics or rooms,
Or you have to create some pillars —
To look for some other domes?
Why pines are so strong and prickly,
Maybe they form the pain?
What do you need for a violin —
To find a new tune and strain.


* * *

What can you tell a dried butterfly
That hangs in my room
In a frame? —

How wonderful to be outside of these
Concrete pressing walls,
That frame my movements? —

How the light and fresh wind blow,
And flow, carrying you into the eternity,
Of a boundless sky?..

What can you tell a dying orchid
That artificial painful thing
That I see in a shop window?

How wet and rich a rainforest is
After warm rainy showers,
At night?..

Or how a dewdrop glitters
In the moon when a moth gently touches
Frail petals of a passioned flower...



A burst of blooming, —
drops of snow.
A fussy — busy celebration, —
a lonely wintery starvation:
So different are hours of life,
while one is in attention,
The other strifes survive.
A mistlethrush and mistletoe
Have only misty word in common.
What is the mist — to be unknown,
Unclear, gloomy, water-snowy.
I liked the flower and the bird
They have their home in trees on top.
They can together meet the sun
And certainly have their charm.