Yellow water
in the stockyard —
far away and cold, a priori,

and there, like drumsticks,
alphabets without end
of untamed children:

oh! Broken Glass, Splinter and Straw,
oh! Linear Scythian Winds,
and like carnival scuffles in cellars,
Paper and Paper and Paper,

oh! ship's boys of straw,
oh! damp of letters on fingers!

HERE AND NOW! IT SEEMS TO CUT,
BUT ONLY ME, NOT YOU!
CUTTING — THROUGH PICTURES AND DRESSES
AND CLAWS OF BIRDS!

Cows' hooves are bright, unbelievable,
like sailing into a bay,
or like a dance,

and then, like the pounding of rails,
bright and wide and unsparing
the embrace of those who were with us —
hands, sisters, necks, mothers!

let us breathe again, let us breathe,
let us sleep again and pass
not yesterday, today or tomorrow, o-o-o-o-! —

THROUGH CHILDREN'S SHOUTS,
THROUGH DAMP OF LETTERS,
THROUGH PICTURES AND DRESSES
AND CLAWS OF BIRDS!
1960

Translated from Russian by Peter France