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arts / rec.arts.books / Stranger

SubjectAuthor
o StrangerIlya Shambat

1
Stranger

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Subject: Stranger
From: ibsham...@gmail.com (Ilya Shambat)
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 by: Ilya Shambat - Fri, 27 Oct 2023 01:04 UTC

In evenings over the restaurants
Wild and unheedful is hot air,
And spirit of the spring entranced
Rules drunken shouts of people there.

Afar, above the drunken alleyway,
Above the bored summer estates,
With gold light luminesces the bakery,
And cries of children resonate.

And every even, beyond the railway gates,
Bending their collars as they walk,
Among the ditches, holding ladies' hands,
Experienced jokesters stroll along.

Above the lake screech many engines, and
The women's shouts resound with verve
And in the heavens, used to everything,
The disk of moon mindlessly curves.

And every evening, my friend singular
From sides of glass reflects at me
With dampness hardy and mysterious,
Resigned and deafened just like me.

And by the tables that are next to me
Linger the lackeys through the night,
"In vino veritas" shout happily
The drunkards with the rabbits' eyes.

And every even, in assigned hour,
(Or is this just my dream?) a flock
Of ladies, in silk covered,
Strides past the window through the fog.

And slowly, passing by the drunkards and
Accompanied by none, alone,
Perfume and spring fog emanating
By side of window she sits down.

And with the ancient creeds are blowing
Her tight and incandescent silks,
And hat with feathers funereal, and
A slender arm covered with rings.

And, spellbound with a strange closeness,
I gaze on her dark jewelry
And I see the enchanted coast, and
Enchanted distance too I see.

To me entrusted are deep secrets all,
In my trust is somebody's sun,
And all the facets of my soul
Sharp wine has pierced all as one.

And the bent feathers of an ostrich are
Swinging in my mind, duly bent,
And bottomless blue eyes from far
Away bloom on the distant land.

There is a treasure in my soul, and
The key is given just to me!
You are correct, you drunken monster, lad!
I see: In wine, there's verity!

******

The ladies there are flaunting fashion, and
Each student there makes wisecracks -
Above bored dachas, and the gardens, and
Above the dust of sunny lakes.

There with red fingers they are luring
And then the evanescent dawn
Above the dust-encrusted terminals
Awakes suburban summer homes.

There, where with boredom I am tormented,
Once in a while she comes to me -
Shamelessly luring and magnificent,
With pride instilling modesty.

Beyond the thick and brimming beer mugs
Beyond the sleep of daily grind
Shines and is visible her jewelry,
Her eyes and features much refined

What am I waiting for, enchanted by
My star of happiness, anew,
And also deafened and discomfited
By wine, by dawn, and also you?

Breathing the ancient creeds' material
And with the blackest silks entwined
Under the helmet with funereal
Feathers, are you too deaf with wine?

Among this lowliness incredible,
Say, what am I to do with you -
The one unique and unattainable,
Like evening that with smoke is blue?

By Alexander Blok
Translated from Russian by Ilya Shambat
https://sites.google.com/site/ibshambat


arts / rec.arts.books / Stranger

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