So I visited again
this locality of love, peninsula of factories,
paradise of workshops and arcade of factories,
river steamer paradise,
I whispered again:
here I am again in infant chests.
So I again ran Malaya Okhta through a thousand arches.
Before me the river
sprawled under the coal smoke,
behind the tram
thundered on the bridge unharmed,
and brick fences
the gloom suddenly brightened.
good afternoon, so we met, poor youth.
Suburban jazz welcomes us,
hear the chimneys of the outskirts,
beautiful in black caps, charming,
not soul or flesh -
someone's shadow over a native gramophone,
like your dress is suddenly thrown up by the saxophone.
In a bright red muffler
and in a cloak in the alleyways, in the front
you stand in sight
on the bridge near the irretrievable years,
clutching an unfinished glass of lemonade,
and roars behind the expensive mill pipe.
good afternoon. Well, a meeting with us.
How disembodied you are!
Near a new sunset
drives firing canvases into the distance.
How poor you are! So many years,
but rushed in vain.
good afternoon, my youth. Oh my God, how beautiful you are!
Over the frozen hills
greyhounds silently rush,
among the red swamps
on an empty highway,
disappearing into the smoke of woodland,
taxi take off, and the aspens look up into the skies.
This is our winter.
Modern lantern looks with a deathly eye,
burning before me
dazzling thousand windows.
Raise my cry,
so that he does not collide with houses:
This is our winter, everything cannot come back.
To death, not,
we won't find her, do not find.
From birth to light
we go somewhere every day,
like someone in the distance
plays great in new buildings.
We all run away. Death alone gathers us.
so, no parting.
There is a huge meeting.
so, someone us suddenly
hugs the shoulders in the dark,
and, full of darkness,
and full of darkness and peace,
we all stand together over the cold glittering river.
How easy it is for us to breathe,
because like a plant
in someone else's life
we become light and shadow
or more -
that's why, what we all lose,
running back forever, we become death and paradise.
Here I go again
in the same bright paradise - from a stop to the left,
running before me,
closing with palms new Eve,
bright red adam
in the distance appears in the arches,
Neva wind rings mournfully in the hanging harps.
How fast life is
in the black and white paradise of new buildings.
The serpent is entwined,
and the sky is silent heroic,
glistens motionless by the fountain,
the morning snow winds, and the cars fly relentlessly.
Is it really not me,
lit by three lanterns,
so many years in the dark
ran through the fragments of wastelands,
and the radiance of heaven
the crane was swirling?
Is it really not me? Something here has changed forever.
Someone new reigns,
nameless, beautiful, omnipotent.
burns over the homeland,
the light spills dark blue,
and in the eyes of the greyhounds
lights rustle - flower by flower,
someone always walks near new houses alone.
so, no parting.
so, in vain we asked for forgiveness
at their dead.
so, no return for winter.
One thing remains:
walk on the ground without alarm.
Can't get left behind. Overtaking is only possible.
Then, where are we in a hurry,
is it hell or heaven,
or simply darkness,
darkness, it's all unknown,
constant subject of praise,
Isn't she love? No, it has no name.
This is eternal life:
striking bridge, incessant word,
revitalization of love, killing the past,
and the shine of the shop windows, the sound of distant trams,
the splash of cold water near your ever-wide trousers.
Congratulations to myself
with this early find, with you,
I congratulate myself
with a surprisingly bitter fate,
with this eternal river,
with this sky in beautiful aspen trees,
with descriptions of losses behind a silent crowd of shops.
Not a resident of these places,
not dead, and some kind of intermediary,
you shout about yourself at last:
didn't recognize anyone,
identified, forgot, deceived,
thank God, winter. so, I have not returned anywhere.
Thank God, stranger.
I don't blame anyone here.
I go, in a hurry, overtaking.
How easy it is for me now
that's why, that I didn't part with anyone.
Thank God, that I am on earth without a homeland.
Congratulations to myself!
How many years will I live, I don't need anything.
How many years will I live,
How many will I give for a glass of lemonade.
How many times will I come back - like I lock the house,
how much will I give for sadness from a brick pipe and a dog bark.