_______________________________________
When dusk has come, above the restaurants
The burning air is wild and deaf,
The drunken cries consent to rest upon
Its vernal and decaying breath.
Afar, above the dust of alleyways—
The yawn of summer bungalows,
A gilt roll glints atop a bakery,
And there resound an infant’s moans.
And every dusk, beyond the barriers,
A rakish angle to their hats,
Between the ditches with their lady-friends
Are strolling seasoned, witty lads.
Above the lake—the oarlocks’ stridency;
And there resounds a woman’s shriek,
As in the sky, inured to everything,
Inanely grins a silvery disk.
And every dusk, my sole associate
Is mirrored in my tumbler’s sheen;
Through fumes—astringent and mysterious—
Like me, both tamed and deafened seems.
Around me, at the counters neighboring,
Are drowsy waiters standing by,
And drunks, their eyes blood-shot and rabbity:
In vino veritas they cry.
Each night—the hour never deviates,
(Or do I see this in my dreams?)
A slender form in silken mantelet
Beyond the misty pane appears.
And slowly, through the crude inebriates,
Alone, and every night the same,
Effusing vapors, mists and fragrances
She sits down by the window frame.
And wafted by the myths of ancientry
Her silken dress about her clings,
Her mourning hat with plumes of ebony,
Her narrow hand bares many rings.
And seized by fettering proximity,
I gaze beyond her dark-hued veils
And see a distant shore bewitching me,
To where bewitching distance pales.
In trust I hold deep-hidden mysteries,
Another’s Sun in trust is mine,
And now are all my soul’s interstices
Suffused by this astringent wine.
And ebon ostrich plumes sway languidly,
Cascading down within my brain,
And eyes, of deepest blue and fathomless,
Bloom in the distant shore’s domain.
There lies within my soul a treasure chest,
Its Key—a trust that’s solely mine!
You’re right, you reeling-drunk monstrosity!
I know; the Truth is in the wine.
Translated by A.L. and M.K.
(An excerpt, 1918)
(1.)
Evening—pitch black.
Snow—pure white.
Blow winds, blow back!
“Standing up straight—man, it’s a fight.”
Blow winds, blow low—
Sweeping God’s world—whole, in their tow!
< … >
(2.)
The wind runs riot, fans the snow.
There twelve men sally in a row.
Their guns’ black slings, dark stocks and sights,
Around—dim lights, more lights and lights …
Cheap butts in teeth, and crumpled caps,
A diamond ace would suit those backs!
“Red freedom, yah, freedom,
Yah, yah—with no Cross!”
Ra-tat-tah! [—It’s a toss:
Who gets killed, who gets lost]
< … >
(11.)
…And they tramp—no holy name to utter,
All twelve goons go on.
Up for any slaughter,
All their pity gone …
< … >
12.
…On they go triumphant, marching …
“Who’s there?—Out! Don’t try no stunt!”
Just the wind—red banner’s arching
As its plaything out in front …
“Out in front—the snowdrift quivers:
Who’s that in the mound?—Stand clear!” …
Just a vagrant hound that shivers,
Hungry, limping in the rear …
“Beat it now you filthy bastard,
Else I’ll scratch you with my gun:
With my bayonet I’ll chop up
All you old-world, dog-gone scum!”
…Bares its teeth—a wolflike hunger—
Tail tucked in—yet so aware—
Follows frozen—that poor mongrel …
“Hey you—answer—who goes there?”
“Who’s there waving that red banner?
—Pitch black—you can’t see at all!
—Who’s that there—he’s done a runner,
Sliding down along the wall?”
“Wait and see, I’m gonna get you,
Better keep yourself alive!
Hey you, comrade, you’ll regret it,
Come out now, or else you die!”
Ra-tat-tat—shots echo after
From the houses lifeless now …
Just the blizzard spills its laughter
Through the endless drifts of snow …
Ra-tat-tat!
Ra-tat-tat …
…On they go triumphant, marching,
Rearwards lurks the hungry dog,
Forefront—bloodstained banner’s arching,
And unseen within the storm,
‘Mid the bullets safe from harm,
Gait above the tempest lifted,
As the pearls of snow roll drifted,
In a thorny, white-rose crown—
Forefront—Jesus Christ leads on.
(1917-18) Translated by A.L. and M. K.