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• [Хронологический каталог]

AFTER SHORELESS UNDYING COLDNESS...

After shoreless undying coldness,
dark and hopeless, year in year out,
after all this lingering illness
like a punishment, like a psalm – 
you, God knows by what sudden fancy,
spread the hell and the honeypot
of your eyes and your hands before me
who have long forgot who I am.
    And I cease, short and scarce my breath,
    and my heart now ablaze now icier,
    numb my ears, gone my hands and eyes are,
    craw still as death.

Thus it may be some feathered creature,
in four walls from his youthful years,
disremembering wings' intention,
lives shut in for many a day;
and when he is a bird no longer,
someone –  casually, unawares – 
comes uncovering scope before him:
What to do with you! fly away.
    O, but look at this piece of glass,
    amber, garnet, a handmade trinket – 
    how on earth should he fly now, think it!
    Alas, alas...

And imagine one day a prisoner
finds no lock on the window frame,
struck by suddenness, turns demented,
to the window and marches through,
just because having seen the heavens
not with one tiny light or flame,
he pretends they are all in diamonds – 
which is really bestowed on few.
    But a genius or chaser of fame,
    hard below he will find the asphalt.
    Were befuddled he or bedazzled – 
    doomed all the same.

Keep yourself from returning freedom
to a madman, a bat, a bard.
Keep yourself: he is quite a danger,
undistinguishing height from gulf.
But if once you will free him, forthwith
wipe regret from your face and heart,
rid your conscience of compassion
and thereafter, release yourself.
    Then with ease you can watch his fall,
    how he smiles, passing under, at you:
    What to do with you, brother! have to
    fly after all...