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“December’s immaculate coldness feels warm. December feels like blood.”
―
―
“
The Wedding Ring
Although the lamp was out, above its darkness
I saw the bright reflection of a flame.
My soul is bare, stripped to the purest bareness;
It has escaped, transcended all its bounds.
A man, I held desire my dearest treasure.
but I give it, myself, my sacred pain,
my prayers, my ecstasies - all these, O Father,
I give with love to You, most loving one.
And so the hour of limitless surrender
enclosed me in a cloak of flames like wings;
empowered me with the power of Your commandment,
and clothed me in Your holy veil of fire.
So let me stretch my hand out to my brother;
I look in the Face of You, the Fount of Life,
and in the radiance of transfigured torture
I bear my cross, light as a wedding ring.”
―
Although the lamp was out, above its darkness
I saw the bright reflection of a flame.
My soul is bare, stripped to the purest bareness;
It has escaped, transcended all its bounds.
A man, I held desire my dearest treasure.
but I give it, myself, my sacred pain,
my prayers, my ecstasies - all these, O Father,
I give with love to You, most loving one.
And so the hour of limitless surrender
enclosed me in a cloak of flames like wings;
empowered me with the power of Your commandment,
and clothed me in Your holy veil of fire.
So let me stretch my hand out to my brother;
I look in the Face of You, the Fount of Life,
and in the radiance of transfigured torture
I bear my cross, light as a wedding ring.”
―
“
Швея
Уж третий день ни с кем не говорю...
А мысли — жадные и злые.
Болит спина; куда ни посмотрю —
Повсюду пятна голубые.
Церковный колокол гудел; умолк;
Я всё наедине с собою.
Скрипит и гнется жарко-алый шелк
Под неумелою иглою.
На всех явлениях лежит печать.
Одно с другим как будто слито.
Приняв одно — стараюсь угадать
За ним другое, — то, что скрыто.
И этот шелк мне кажется — Огнем.
И вот уж не огнем — а Кровью.
А кровь — лишь знак того, что мы зовем
На бедном языке — Любовью.
Любовь — лишь звук... Но в этот поздний час
Того, что дальше, — не открою.
Нет, не огонь, не кровь... а лишь атлас
Скрипит под робкою иглою.
The Seamstress
For two days I have not said a word...
Spiteful thoughts gnaw me.
My back hurts; wherever I look
blue spots are floating.
The church bell booms out for a while,
then stops. I am left to myself. The scarlet silk squeaks and slips
as it suffers my hesitant stitches.
All things flow into each other,
but each has a mark of its own;
I fasten on objects, and wonder
What may lie hidden beyond.
The silk flares up in flames,
then turns to a pool of blood;
'love' is our paltry word
for the blood language cannot name.
'Love' is a meaningless sound...
But I shall see no more now, it is late:
Not fire or blood, but silk
suffers my hesitant stitches”
―
Уж третий день ни с кем не говорю...
А мысли — жадные и злые.
Болит спина; куда ни посмотрю —
Повсюду пятна голубые.
Церковный колокол гудел; умолк;
Я всё наедине с собою.
Скрипит и гнется жарко-алый шелк
Под неумелою иглою.
На всех явлениях лежит печать.
Одно с другим как будто слито.
Приняв одно — стараюсь угадать
За ним другое, — то, что скрыто.
И этот шелк мне кажется — Огнем.
И вот уж не огнем — а Кровью.
А кровь — лишь знак того, что мы зовем
На бедном языке — Любовью.
Любовь — лишь звук... Но в этот поздний час
Того, что дальше, — не открою.
Нет, не огонь, не кровь... а лишь атлас
Скрипит под робкою иглою.
The Seamstress
For two days I have not said a word...
Spiteful thoughts gnaw me.
My back hurts; wherever I look
blue spots are floating.
The church bell booms out for a while,
then stops. I am left to myself. The scarlet silk squeaks and slips
as it suffers my hesitant stitches.
All things flow into each other,
but each has a mark of its own;
I fasten on objects, and wonder
What may lie hidden beyond.
The silk flares up in flames,
then turns to a pool of blood;
'love' is our paltry word
for the blood language cannot name.
'Love' is a meaningless sound...
But I shall see no more now, it is late:
Not fire or blood, but silk
suffers my hesitant stitches”
―
“I long to desire something. I am afraid I no longer desire anything.”
―
―
“
Брачное кольцо
Над темностью лампады незажженной
Я увидал сияющий отсвет.
Последним обнаженьем обнаженной
Моей душе — пределов больше нет.
Желанья были мне всего дороже...
Но их, себя, святую боль мою,
Молитвы, упованья, — всё, о Боже,
В Твою Любовь с любовью отдаю.
И этот час бездонного смиренья
Крылатым пламенем облек меня.
Я властен властью — Твоего веленья,
Одет покровом — Твоего огня.
Я к близкому протягиваю руки,
Тебе, Живому, я смотрю в Лицо,
И, в светлости преображенной муки,
Мне легок крест, как брачное кольцо.
The Wedding Ring
Although the lamp was out, above its darkness
I saw the bright reflection of a flame.
My soul is bare, stripped to the purest bareness;
It has escaped, transcended all its bounds.
A man, I held desire my dearest treasure.
but I give it, myself, my sacred pain,
my prayers, my ecstasies - all these, O Father,
I give with love to You, most loving one.
And so the hour of limitless surrender
enclosed me in a cloak of flames like wings;
empowered me with the power of Your commandment,
and clothed me in Your holy veil of fire.
So let me stretch my hand out to my brother;
I look in the Face of You, the Fount of Life,
and in the radiance of transfigured torture
I bear my cross, light as a wedding ring.”
―
Над темностью лампады незажженной
Я увидал сияющий отсвет.
Последним обнаженьем обнаженной
Моей душе — пределов больше нет.
Желанья были мне всего дороже...
Но их, себя, святую боль мою,
Молитвы, упованья, — всё, о Боже,
В Твою Любовь с любовью отдаю.
И этот час бездонного смиренья
Крылатым пламенем облек меня.
Я властен властью — Твоего веленья,
Одет покровом — Твоего огня.
Я к близкому протягиваю руки,
Тебе, Живому, я смотрю в Лицо,
И, в светлости преображенной муки,
Мне легок крест, как брачное кольцо.
The Wedding Ring
Although the lamp was out, above its darkness
I saw the bright reflection of a flame.
My soul is bare, stripped to the purest bareness;
It has escaped, transcended all its bounds.
A man, I held desire my dearest treasure.
but I give it, myself, my sacred pain,
my prayers, my ecstasies - all these, O Father,
I give with love to You, most loving one.
And so the hour of limitless surrender
enclosed me in a cloak of flames like wings;
empowered me with the power of Your commandment,
and clothed me in Your holy veil of fire.
So let me stretch my hand out to my brother;
I look in the Face of You, the Fount of Life,
and in the radiance of transfigured torture
I bear my cross, light as a wedding ring.”
―
“La poesía en general, y la poesía en particular, o sea la música de la palabra, no es más que una de las formas que reviste la oración en nuestra alma”
―
―
“They gathered after mass, sang hymns and read. Everyone had grown even more serene; beneath the sisters' kerchiefs it was as if there were no faces. When they met Daryushka — it was as if they bowed down lower. She was walking in the Spirit.
Daryushka was entirely serene. She was thinking of nothing, had turned within herself, peering inside; and inside her all was smiling ever so gently.
After the storm clear days came, frosty, crackling, clear days. Snow and sky, snow and sky, and the sky was even brighter, whiter, from the snow — and the snow sparkled with blue fires from the sky.
Daryushka went down to the river with buckets, to the ice-hole. She went down to the landing alone... Snow, and sky, and brilliance...
("He Has Descended")”
― Silver Age of Russian Culture
Daryushka was entirely serene. She was thinking of nothing, had turned within herself, peering inside; and inside her all was smiling ever so gently.
After the storm clear days came, frosty, crackling, clear days. Snow and sky, snow and sky, and the sky was even brighter, whiter, from the snow — and the snow sparkled with blue fires from the sky.
Daryushka went down to the river with buckets, to the ice-hole. She went down to the landing alone... Snow, and sky, and brilliance...
("He Has Descended")”
― Silver Age of Russian Culture
“I seek for rhythmic whisperings
Where noises bandy—
For life I listen wistfully
In footless banter.
I cast wide nets and tentative
In lakes of sorrow.
I go toward final tenderness
By pathways sordid.
I look for dewdrops glistering
In falsehood’s gardens.
I save truth’s globules glistening,
From dust-heaps garnered.
I fain would fathom fortitude
Through years of wormwood—
And pierce the mortal fortalice,
Yet live, a worldling.
My cup, through ways impassable,
To bear, untainted;
By tenebrous bleak passages
To joy attaining.”
―
Where noises bandy—
For life I listen wistfully
In footless banter.
I cast wide nets and tentative
In lakes of sorrow.
I go toward final tenderness
By pathways sordid.
I look for dewdrops glistering
In falsehood’s gardens.
I save truth’s globules glistening,
From dust-heaps garnered.
I fain would fathom fortitude
Through years of wormwood—
And pierce the mortal fortalice,
Yet live, a worldling.
My cup, through ways impassable,
To bear, untainted;
By tenebrous bleak passages
To joy attaining.”
―
“Quello che sto per dire è molto strano. Ma scrivere mi è NOIOSO. Si, tra la rossa nebbia, tra questi schifosi orrori senza precedenti, al fondo di questa insensibilità vi è la noia. Un turbinio di eventi e - immobilità. Ogni cosa sta crollando, sta andando al diavolo - e non c'è vita. Nella vita umana vi è sempre l'elemento della lotta volontaria; adesso essa quasi non esiste. Ve n'è così poca, nel centro degli eventi. E vi è il fetore della carogna.”
―
―
“I believe his words, but I sometimes don’t fathom his essence”
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