"Marina Tsvetaeva. The Best (translated by Ilya Shambat) (англ.)" - читать интересную книгу автора

Sixteen hundred of them, to count them all.
Full of bells are these Moscow's seven hills!

In the ringing, fine-gold day of John
The Baptist was born. House like gingerbread,
And around a hedge, and around a hedge,
And the churches there stand with golden heads.

And as nuns were pouring to dining hall,
The first ringing I did love, I did love
And the sorceress from a neighbor's yard
And hot sleep and noise in the stove.

Do conduct me, all you imbecile,
Thieving, flagellant Moscow crowd!
Priest, shut my mouth more tightly still
With the ringing-bell Moscow's ground!


8
Moscow - what a giant
And strangely-mannered home!
In Russia all are homeless.
We all to you will come.

A knife behind a boot-leg,
A shoulder brand in shame.
From far away us all
You will call all the same.

Upon the penal brandings,
On every kind of ill -
A baby Panteleimon
We have, O man who heals,

And there behind that door,
Where all the people pour -
There the fine golden heart
Is burning of Iver.

And "Halleluiah" pours
Upon the fields grown tan.
I kiss you in the bosom,
O the Moscow land!


9
With a red brush
The mountain-ash burned:
The leaves were falling