In the section on the question I am looking for the title, text and artist of the song line by line: set by the author ability the best answer is Sonnet
I'm probably sick - there is fog in my heart,
I'm bored with everything - both people and stories,
I dream of Korodev's diamonds
And covered in blood, a heavy scimitar.
It seems to me, and this is not a deception -
Ferocious Hun, I am the air of infection,
Through the centuries came down, possessed.
I am silent, longing, and the walls recede,
Here is the ocean, covered in scraps of white foam
And a city with golden domes
With blooming jasmine gardens.
We fought there - oh yes, I was killed.
Nikolay Gumilev
Answer from 22 answers[guru]
Hello! Here is a selection of topics with answers to your question: I am looking for the title, lyrics and artist of the song line by line:
Answer from Alla R[guru]
Nikolay Gumilyov home
Sonnet
I'm probably sick: there is fog in my heart,
I am bored with everything - both people and stories.
I dream about royal diamonds
And a wide scimitar covered in blood.
It seems to me (and this is not a hoax)
My ancestor was a cross-eyed Tatar,
A ferocious Hun ... I am the breath of infection,
Through the centuries came down, possessed.
I am silent, longing, and the walls recede:
Here the ocean is covered in shreds of white foam,
Granite drenched in the setting sun
And a city with blue domes
With blooming jasmine gardens
We fought there ... Oh yes! I was killed.
Nikolay Stepanovich Gumilyov
I am truly ill: there is fog in my heart,
I'm bored with everything, both people and stories,
I dream about royal diamonds
And a wide scimitar covered in blood.
It seems to me (and this is not a hoax)
My ancestor was a cross-eyed Tatar,
The ferocious Hun ... I am the air of infection,
Through the centuries came down, possessed.
I am silent, longing, and the walls recede -
Here the ocean is covered in shreds of white foam,
Granite drenched in the setting sun
And a city with blue domes
With blooming jasmine gardens
We fought there ... Oh, yes! I was killed.
Unlike the reflective contemplators, whose images abound in the poetry of the Silver Age, the lyrical subject of Gumilev's creativity is a man of action. It is dominated by a volitional principle, and with a variety of roles - a conqueror and a hunter, a warrior and a sailor - one thing remains unchanged: the courageous essence of the hero's nature.
Gumilyov's work began with a poetic declaration of the conquistador, which was clothed in the form of a sonnet. A brave and strong romantic, who feels close to "abysses and storms", is ready to go his way to the end. In the Sonnet, published in 1912, the hero's mood changed. Boredom and "fog" in the soul, similar to illness, resemble the state of Pushkin's Onegin, who suffered from "English spleen".
Longing for inaction is accompanied by fantastic visions. First, there are some exotic details: "royal diamonds" and a bloody scimitar. Bright "material" signs are replaced by images of warriors of the distant past, with whom the hero feels a kinship. The two temporal layers are brought together by a complex fusion of the thirst for activity, the craving for danger and the pursuit of luck, metaphorically designated as "the breath of infection."
The first terzet, following the canons of the genre, synthesizes the feelings of the lyrical subject. Longing and silence in the hazy gray present is opposed by a vivid landscape of the past. The beautiful city, whose “blue domes” bathe in the rays of the “setting sun”, is surrounded by a double row of “white foam” of blooming gardens and ocean waters.
The last line of the sonnet unexpectedly interrupts the pictorial sketch. After the announcement of a duel with an unknown enemy, a pause follows, followed by a shocking memory of his own death. The denouement offers a new look at the relationship between the present and the past: the fantastic images that flashed through the mind are not ancestors, but doubles of the lyrical subject. Plunging into imaginary spheres, the hero is faced with a multi-layered structure that determines the deep qualities of his own nature.
The picture of a bizarre world, in which motley spatio-temporal layers are intertwined, is clothed in the classical form of the French version of the sonnet.
The wandering of the lyric "I", covering various historical epochs, is one of the leading motifs in the poetics of Gumilyov. The confusion of times and spaces, concentrated in the soul of the hero, culminates in the poetic text "Lost Tram".
"Sonnet" Nikolay Gumilyov
I am truly ill: there is fog in my heart,
I'm bored with everything, people and stories,
I dream about royal diamonds
And a wide scimitar covered in blood.It seems to me (and this is not a hoax)
My ancestor was a cross-eyed Tatar,
The ferocious Hun ... I am the air of infection,
Through the centuries came down, possessed.I am silent, longing, and the walls recede -
Here the ocean is covered in shreds of white foam,
Granite drenched in the setting sunAnd a city with blue domes
With blooming jasmine gardens
We fought there ... Oh, yes! I was killed.
Analysis of Gumilyov's poem "Sonnet"
Unlike the reflective contemplators, whose images abound in the poetry of the Silver Age, the lyrical subject of Gumilev's creativity is a man of action. It is dominated by a volitional principle, and with a variety of roles - a conqueror and a hunter, a warrior and a sailor - one thing remains unchanged: the courageous essence of the hero's nature.
Gumilyov's work began with a poetic declaration of the conquistador, which was clothed in the form of a sonnet. A brave and strong romantic, who feels close to "abysses and storms", is ready to go his way to the end. In the Sonnet, published in 1912, the hero's mood changed. Boredom and "fog" in the soul, similar to illness, resemble the state of Pushkin's Onegin, who suffered from "English spleen".
Longing for inaction is accompanied by fantastic visions. First, there are some exotic details: "royal diamonds" and a bloody scimitar. Bright "material" signs are replaced by images of warriors of the distant past, with whom the hero feels a kinship. The two temporal layers are brought together by a complex fusion of the thirst for activity, the craving for danger and the pursuit of luck, metaphorically designated as "the breath of infection."
The first terzet, following the canons of the genre, synthesizes the feelings of the lyrical subject. Longing and silence in the hazy gray present is opposed by a vivid landscape of the past. The beautiful city, whose "blue domes" bathe in the rays of the "setting sun", is surrounded by a double row of "white foam" flowering gardens and ocean waters.
The last line of the sonnet unexpectedly interrupts the pictorial sketch. After the announcement of a duel with an unknown enemy, a pause follows, followed by a shocking memory of his own death. The denouement offers a new look at the relationship between the present and the past: the fantastic images that flashed through the mind are not ancestors, but doubles of the lyrical subject. Plunging into imaginary spheres, the hero is faced with a multi-layered structure that determines the deep qualities of his own nature.
The picture of a bizarre world in which motley spatio-temporal layers intertwine is clothed in the classical form of the French version of the sonnet.
The wandering of the lyrical "I", covering various historical epochs, is one of the leading motifs in Gumilyov's poetics. The confusion of times and spaces, concentrated in the soul of the hero, culminates in the poetic text "".
content:
The romantic heritage can be seen here in everything: in the abstract,
"Sublime" words that describe the world surrounding the hero ("path"
"Abyss", "abyss"); and in typically romantic symbols of what he aspires to - "my star", "blue lily"; finally, in the very figure of a conquistador, a knight, a vagabond, seeking something unknown, existing only in legend, myth, dream.
The entire poem (we are still talking about its later edition) is a consistent "encryption" by the poet of his fate - his past, present and future - using a kind of romantic cipher. The distribution of grammatical forms of time is curious: out - going - growing - laughing - waiting - coming - calling - I will fight - I will get it; from the past - through the present - to the future.
At the same time, the verbs of the perfect form frame the entire poem, and the absolute majority are verbs of the imperfect form, which report what is happening constantly, regularly. But these verbs, in essence, do not report anything about real events, they only express a certain higher (emotional, symbolic) meaning of these events:
"Came out" - "started doing something", "I am going" - "I continue to do this",
"I laugh and wait" - "I am ready to overcome difficulties by doing something", etc.
The same is true for nouns: “abysses and abysses” are some “dangerous places”, “joyful garden” is “resting place”, “fog” is “uncertainty, uncertainty”. We will not learn anything intelligible about this; moreover, it is not always clear what the author has in mind - for example, what the “last link” is, from what chain it is and what it means to “untie”. It can be assumed that we are talking about the inevitability of death
as the last moment of life; but this remains only an assumption, which is partly confirmed by the further ... development of the poem.
Thus, the poet is trying to create an image of himself as a person involved in some very important, emotionally significant process, ready to participate in it and accept any challenge. At the same time, he undertakes to accomplish the impossible, fighting even with the inevitable - death.
As already mentioned, this is a typical romantic figure; in fact,
Gumilyov did not add anything to this standard image.
Let us dwell briefly on the changes that the poet made when reworking the poem. They are quite significant: for example, Gumilev tried to bring the form of his poem closer to the strict canon of the sonnet, in particular, he streamlined the rhyme scheme, which in the first edition differed in the first and second quatrains.
But the semantic changes are more important: for example, the theme of death is absent in the first edition; the poet only says that what he is looking for may not exist in the world - and he is ready to create his dream, this will become his victory. In general, the first version of the poem is more directed towards the future (suffice it to say that there are no past tense forms at all, and there are 4 forms of the future, and all of them are from perfect verbs, that is, they draw the future as something that will surely come true) and more "self-overwhelming" : the first three lines starting with "I" evoke a sense of uniformity, which is supported by the repeated repetitions of this "I" in the future.
While revising the poem, Gumilev tried to avoid this monotony, removed repetitions of syntactic constructions (and lexical ones - “gaps”, which are encountered twice in the first edition). Thus, he somewhat "grounded" the image, emphasized his detachment from the image of the "conquistador"; moved the action of the poem from the "eternal present and necessarily future" into the framework of human life; finally, thought about the price that would have to be paid to make his impossible dream come true
GIRAFFE
Today, I see, your look is especially sad,
And the arms are especially thin, hugging the knees.
Listen: far, far, on Lake Chad
An exquisite giraffe wanders.
He was given graceful harmony and bliss,
And his skin is adorned with a magic pattern,
With which only the moon will dare to equal
Crushing and swaying on the moisture of wide lakes.
In the distance he is like the colored sails of a ship
And his run is smooth, like a joyful bird flight.
I know that the earth sees many wonderful things,
When at sunset he hides in a marble grotto.
I know funny tales of mysterious countries
About the black maiden, about the passion of the young leader,
But you've been inhaling the heavy mist for too long
You don't want to believe in anything but rain.
And how can I tell you about the tropical garden,
About slender palms, about the smell of incredible herbs?
- You cry? Listen ... far away on Lake Chad
An exquisite giraffe wanders.
1907
| CROSS |
The card lied to me for so long
That I couldn’t get drunk with wine.
Cold stars of anxious March
They turned pale one after another outside the window.
In cold madness, in anxious excitement
I felt as if this game was a dream.
"The whole bank - shouted - I cover in the card!"
And the card is killed and I am defeated.
I went out into the air. Dawn shadows
We wandered so tenderly through the gentle snows.
I myself do not remember how I fell to my knees
Pressing my golden cross to my lips.
Become free and clear, like the starry sky,
Take your staff, Sister Poverty,
Wander the roads, beg for bread,
Conjuring people with the shrine of the cross! -
An instant ... and in a cheerful and noisy hall
Everyone quieted down and got up scared from their seats,
When I walked in, sore, insane
And silently put my cross on the line.
| *** |
In a semi-dark, strict hall
The violins sang, you danced.
Groups of butterflies and lilies
On greenish silk
How alive they said
With an electric sunset
And the shadow of acacias fell
On the canvases of the scenery.
You seemed like a bonbonniere
Over an elegant bookcase,
And, like white cats,
Like children at play
Your little feet
Fluttered on the floor
And golden beetles
Your name shone on us.
And when you said
We loved the distant
You threw flowers at us
Unfamiliar art
In incomprehensible words
Intoxicating our senses
And we believed that the sun
Only Japanese fiction.
1907
Dear boy, you are so cheerful, so bright is your smile
Do not ask for this happiness that poisons the worlds
You don't know, you don't know what this violin is,
What is Dark Horror Game Beginner!
The one who once took her into commanding hands,
The serene light of his eyes disappeared forever,
The spirits of hell love to listen to these regal sounds
Mad wolves roam the violinists' road.
You must forever sing and cry to these strings, sonorous strings,
Forever must beat, curl a mad bow,
And under the sun and under the blizzard; under the whitening breaker,
And when the west burns and when the east burns.
You will get tired and slow down, and the singing will be interrupted for a moment,
And you will not be able to shout, move and breathe, -
Immediately the mad wolves in a bloodthirsty frenzy
They will grip the throat with their teeth, stand with their paws on the chest.
You will understand then how viciously everyone that sang laughed,
In the eyes, a belated but imperious fear will look.
And the dreary mortal cold will wrap like a cloth around the body,
And the bride will sob, and the friend will think.
Boy, go on! There is no fun or treasure here!
But I see - you are laughing, these eyes are two beams.
On, own a magic violin, look into the eyes of the monsters
And die a glorious death, a terrible death of a violinist!
1907
| ON MY WAY |
Game time is over
Flowers don't bloom twice.
Shadow from a giant mountain
Fell on our way.
The area of \u200b\u200bsadness and tears -
Rocks on both sides
And the bare cliff, -
Where the dragon is spread
Its sharp ridge is steep,
His sigh is a fiery tornado.
People will call him
The gloomy name "Death".
Well, turn us back
Turn the ships back
To experience again
Ancient land poverty?
No, no way, no way!
So the time has come.
Better blind Nothing
Than golden yesterday!
Let's take out the kladenets sword,
A gift from benevolent naiads,
To finally find
Non-flowering garden.
1907
It was more than once, it will be more than once
In our battle deaf and stubborn
As always, now you've disowned me
Tomorrow, I know, you will return obedient.
But don't be surprised, my warring friend,
My enemy, seized by dark love,
If the groans of love are groans of agony
Kisses are stained with blood.
Another unnecessary day
Magnificent and unnecessary!
Come caressing shadow
And dress your vague soul
With your pearl robe.
And you came ... you drive away
Ominous birds are my sorrows.
Oh lady of the night
No one can overcome
Victory step of your sandals!
Silence flies from the stars
The moon is shining - your wrist
And given to me in a dream again
The promised land
Long-mourned happiness.
| CAPTAINS |
In the polar seas and in the south,
On the bends of green swells,
Between basalt rocks and pearl
The sails of the ships rustle.
The swift-winged captains lead
Discoverers of new lands
For whom hurricanes are not afraid
Who has tasted malstroms and stranded,
Whose is not the dust of lost charters -
The chest is soaked with the salt of the sea,
Who's a needle on a torn card
Celebrates her daring path
And, ascending to the trembling bridge,
Remembers the abandoned port
Shaking off with the blows of the cane
Scraps of foam from high jackboots,
Or, finding a riot on board
Tears a pistol from his belt
So gold is falling from the lace
With pinkish Brabant cuffs.
Let the sea go mad and whip
The crests of the waves rose to the skies
Not a single one trembles before a thunderstorm,
Neither will fold the sails.
Are cowards given these hands
This sharp, confident look
What can the enemy felucca know
Suddenly abandon the frigate
Marked by a bullet, sharp iron
Overtake giant whales
And take note of the many stars in the night
The safety light of the lighthouses?
June 1909
Christ said: “The poor are blessed,
The fate of the blind, crippled and beggars is enviable,
I will take them to the villages above the stars,
I will make them sky knights
And I will call the most glorious of the glorious ... "
Let be! I will accept! But what about those others
Whose thought do we now live and breathe,
Whose names do we sound like appeals?
They will atone for their greatness,
How will the will of the balance pay them?
Il Beatrice became a prostitute,
The deaf and dumb - the great Wolfgang Goethe
And Byron - a street buffoon ... Oh horror!
I believed, I thought, and the light flashed at me at last;
Having created, the Creator gave me forever to fate;
I'm sold! I'm not God's anymore! The seller left
And the buyer looks at me with obvious mockery.
A flying mountain behind me rushes Yesterday,
And tomorrow awaits me ahead, like an abyss,
I go ... But someday the Mountain will fall into the Abyss.
I know, I know, my road is useless.
And if I conquer people with my will,
And if inspiration flies to me at night,
And if I know secrets - a poet, a sorcerer,
The ruler of the universe - the more terrible the fall will be.
And so I dreamed that my heart did not hurt,
It is a porcelain bell in yellow China
On the motley pagoda ... it hangs and rings in greeting
In the enamel sky, teasing flocks of cranes.
And a quiet girl in a dress of red silk
Where wasps, flowers and dragons are embroidered in gold,
With tucked legs he looks without thoughts and dreams,
Listening carefully to light, light ringing.
1911
| POISONED |
“You are completely, you are completely snowy,
How strange and terribly pale you are!
Why are you shaking when serving
A glass of golden wine for me? "
She turned away sad and flexible ...
What I know, I know for a long time
But I'll drink and I'll drink with a smile
All the wine she poured.
And then when the candles are out
And nightmares will come to bed
Those nightmares that slowly choke
I will feel the deadly hop ...
And I will come to her, I will say: "Darling,
I had an amazing dream.
Ah, I dreamed of a plain without an edge
And absolutely golden sky.
Know I won't be cruel anymore
Be happy with whoever you want, even with him,
I will leave, distant, distant,
I will not be sad and angry.
I'm from paradise, cool paradise
White reflections of the day are visible ...
And it's sweet to me - don't cry, dear, -
Know that you have poisoned me. "
1911
| BY THE FIREPLACE |
A shadow was pouring in ... The fireplace was burning out.
Hands on his chest, he stood alone
Fixed gaze directing into the distance,
Bitterly speaking about my sadness:
“I made my way into the depths of unknown countries,
Eighty days went my caravan;
Chains of formidable mountains, forest, and sometimes
Strange in the distance someone's cities
And more than once of them in the silence of the night
An incomprehensible howl flew into the camp.
We cut wood, we dug ditches,
In the evenings, lions came up to us.
But there were no cowardly souls among us.
We shot at them, aiming between the eyes.
Ancient I dug a temple from under the sand
The river is named after me,
And in the land of lakes there are five great tribes
They obeyed me, honored my law.
But now I am weak as in the grip of sleep
And the soul is sick, painfully sick;
I found out, found out what fear is
Buried here within four walls;
Even the glint of a gun, even the splash of a wave
We are not free to break this chain now ... "
And, melting in the eyes of an evil triumph,
The woman in the corner listened to him.
September-October 1910
That country that could be paradise
Became a lair of fire
We are coming for the fourth day,
We haven't eaten for four days.
But you don't need earthly food
In this terrible and bright hour,
Because the Lord's word
Nourishes us better than bread.
And bloody weeks
Dazzling and light
Shrapnel is torn above me
The blades fly faster than birds.
Like thunder hammers
Or waters of angry seas,
Golden heart of Russia
Beats rhythmically in my chest.
And it's so sweet to dress up Victory,
Like a girl in pearls
Following a smoky trail
The retreating enemy.
October 1914
Gone ... the branches wilted
Lilac blue
And even a siskin in a cage
He cried over me.
What's the use, stupid siskin,
What good is it for us to be sad
She's in Paris now
In Berlin, maybe.
More terrible than terrible scarecrows
A beautiful honest way,
And to us in our quiet corner
Runaways cannot be returned.
From the Banner the psalmist
In a cylinder on the side
Big, bony, skinny,
Will come to drink some tea.
The other day his girlfriend
She went to a cheerful house
And now we are each other
We will probably understand.
We don't know anything
No how, no why,
The whole world is uninhabited
It is unclear to the mind.
And the song will tear out the flour
So old is she:
"You are parting, parting,
Another side! "
1914
I groaned from a bad dream
And he woke up, deeply grieving.
I dreamed that you love another
And that he offended you.
I was running from my bed
Like a murderer from his block,
And watched how dimly shone
Lanterns through the eyes of beasts.
Oh, probably so homeless
No man wandered
On this night through the dark streets
As along the beds of dried up rivers.
Here I stand before your door,
No other way is given to me
Even though I know I won't dare
Never enter this door.
He hurt you, I know
Even though it was just a dream
But I'm still dying
Before your closed window
| WORD |
On that day, when over a new world
God bowed His face, then
The sun was stopped by a word
They destroyed cities in a word.
And the eagle did not flap its wings
The stars huddled in horror to the moon,
If, like a pink flame,
The word floated high above.
And for the low life there were numbers
Like livestock, livestock,
Because all the shades of meaning
Smart number conveys.
Patriarch gray-haired, arm in arm
Conquered both good and evil,
Not daring to turn to sound,
I drew a number with a cane in the sand.
But we forgot that it was shining
Only a word amid earthly troubles,
And in the Gospel of John
It is said that the word is God.
We set a limit for him
The meager limits of nature
And like bees in an empty hive,
Dead words smell bad.
Summer 1919
| LOST TRAM |
I walked along an unfamiliar street
And suddenly I heard a raven's sky,
And the ringing of the lute, and the distant thunder,
A tram flew in front of me.
How I jumped on his bandwagon
Was a mystery to me
There's a fiery path in the air
He left in the light of day.
He raced like a dark winged storm,
He got lost in the abyss of time ...
Stop, tram driver,
Stop the car now.
Late. We have already rounded the wall
We slipped through a grove of palm trees
Across the Neva, across the Nile and the Seine
We thundered across three bridges.
And, flashing by the window frame,
Threw us an inquisitive look after us
An old beggar - of course, the one
That he died in Beirut a year ago.
Where I am? So languid and so anxious
My heart is beating back:
“You see the station where you can
Should I buy a ticket to India of the Spirit? "
Signboard ... bloodshot letters
They say: "Green" - I know, here
Instead of cabbage and instead of turnip
Dead heads are being sold.
In a red shirt, with a face like an udder,
The executioner cut off my head too,
She lay with others
Here, in a slippery box, at the very bottom.
And in the alley there is a boardwalk fence,
House with three windows and a gray lawn ...
Stop, tram driver,
Stop the car now.
Masha, you lived and sang here,
I, the groom, weaved a carpet,
Where is your voice and body now
Could it be that you died!
How you moaned in your room
I'm with a powdered braid
I went to introduce myself to the empress
And I did not see you again.
I understand now: our freedom
Only from there beating light
People and shadows stand at the entrance
To the zoological garden of the planets.
And immediately the wind is familiar and sweet,
And over the bridge flies at me
Rider's hand in an iron glove
And two hooves of his horse.
Faithful stronghold of Orthodoxy
Isaac is cut high above,
There I will serve a prayer for health
Masha and a memorial service for me.
And all the same the heart is gloomy forever,
And it's hard to breathe, and it hurts to live ...
Masha, I never thought
That you can love and be so sad.
March 1920
| MY READERS |
Old tramp in Addis Ababa
Conquered many tribes,
He sent a black spearman to me
With greetings made up of my poems ...
Lieutenant who drove the gunboats
Under fire from enemy batteries
All night over the south sea
He read my poems to me.
A man among a crowd of people
Who shot the imperial ambassador
Came to shake my hand
Thank you for my poems.
There are many of them, strong, evil and cheerful,
Killing elephants and people
Dying of thirst in the desert
Frozen on the edge of eternal ice
Faithful to our planet
Strong, cheerful and angry
Carry my books in a saddle bag
They read them in the palm grove,
Forgetting on a sinking ship.
I do not offend them with neurasthenia,
I do not humiliate with warmth,
I don't get bored with meaningful hints
The contents of the eaten egg.
But when bullets are flying around
When the waves break the sides
I teach them how not to be afraid
Do not be afraid and do what you need to do.
And when a woman with a beautiful face
The only one dear in the universe
Say: "I do not love you" -
I teach them how to smile
And leave, and never come back.
And when their last hour comes,
Smooth, red fog will cover the eyes,
I will teach them to remember right away
All cruel, sweet life
And, before the face of God
With simple and wise words,
Wait calmly for his trial.
Early July 1921
| *** |
Answer me, cardboard master,
What did you think while making the album
For poems about the most tender passion
Thick in a real volume?
Cardboard maker, stupid, stupid
You see, my suffering is over,
The sweet lips were too tight
My heart never shook.
Passion sang a swan song
Never will she sing again
Just like a woman with a man
Never understand each other.
“There are big stars in this world,
This world has seas and mountains
Here she loved Beatrice Dante,
Here the Achaeans destroyed Troy!
If you don't forget now
A girl with huge eyes
A girl with skillful speech
The girl who doesn't need you
So you are not worthy to live. "
1917
The whole evening the nightingale rumbled in the garden,
And a bench in a distant alley waited
And spring tormented ... but she did not come,
I didn’t want to, or was just afraid of the branches.
Is it because it was too long to languish,
Is it because the piano was crying from afar,
It was a pity for the nightingale, and the alley and the night,
And someone else was painfully sorry.
Not yourself! I know how to be light, sad;
Not her! If he wants, let him be.
But why this day, like a sick child,
Dying unmarked by God's hand.
1917
| *** |
When I was in love (and I'm in love
Always - in an idea, a woman or a smell),
I wanted to make my dream come true
More bizarre than Rome under the popes.
I rented a room with one window
Shelter of a seamstress withered behind a typewriter,
Where the shabby old gnome must have lived,
Feeding on dropped sardines.
I pushed the table against the wall, onto the dresser
I put the almanacs "Knowledge" side by side,
Postcards - so that even the Hottentot
Indignation came to the sacred.
She entered, calm and light,
Then she stopped in amazement.
The glass was shaking from the drafts in the window.
The alarm clock ticked viciously.
And I said, "Queen, you are alone
Managed to embody all the luxury of the world;
Like pink birds, your days
Your love is the music of the clavier.
Ah, the god of love, the sky-high poet,
I have awarded you with a very special mark,
And there is no one like you ... "She answered
She nodded thoughtfully to me with an egret.
I continued (and stupidly behind the wall
The motive of a cracked organ sounded):
“I want to see you different,
With the face of a godforsaken governess.
And so that you whisper to me: "I am yours",
Or again: "Come into my arms."
Oh sweet cold of coarse linen
And tears and a shabby dress.
And when you leave, take the money: mother
You are sick, you need outfits ...
How boring everything is, I want to play
By you and by yourself, without mercy "
She squinted up in response;
Anger and suffering shone in his eyes:
“Yes, this is very subtle, you are a poet,
But I'll come to you for a minute, goodbye. "
Ladies, now I'm taught
Try to come and you will find
Perfume, flowers, antique medallion,
Aubrey Beardsley in strict binding.
Spring 1911
If you meet me, you won't know!
Named - you can hardly remember!
Only once have I spoken to you
I only kissed your hands once.
But I swear you'll be mine
Even if you love someone else
Even if for many years
I won't be able to meet you!
I swear to you by the white temple
What we saw together at dawn
In this temple he crowned us invisibly
Seraphim with a flaming gaze.
I swear to you by those dreams
What I see now every night
And my great longing
About you in the great desert -
In the desert where the mountains rose
How are your young breasts
And the sunsets were blazing in the sky
Like your bloody lips.
Summer 1919