From: ibshambat@gmail.com   
      
   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   
      
   --- SoupGate-Win32 v1.05   
    * Origin: you cannot sedate... all the things you hate (1:229/2)