Translate to:

M. B.

you vyporhnesh, Malinovka, of three
Malinnikov, recall in captivity,
both at dusk invades peas
Nappy lupine field.
Through the serried mustache pussy-willow
there! - where, pausing for a moment,
countless dewdrops
run down the pods from the collision.

raspberry bushes vstrepenetsya, but pledged
left to guess, what, perhaps,
hunter, puts a snare,
brushwood crunches inadvertently.
In fact - a ribbon trail
in the dark meanders, fade.
I can not hear any murmur, no fire,
I can not see any of Sagittarius, or Aquarius.

Only the night under an inverted wing
runs on capsized kuscham,
persevering, as a memory of the past –
bezmolvnom, but still living.

24 May 1964

Most visited Brodsky's poetry

All poetry (content alphabetically)

Leave a Reply