[1960s] 610. Лазарь Кельберин (1907–1975). «Когда пятнистая луна…» At times when the spotted moon with torn and ragged clouds is strewn; at times when in the city stream the isle of dead its last does dream, and every leaf on every tree is full of spring impurity, — then, hiding in the twilight thick, a man will make his step more quick, and hasten from that road and past where crosses come to life and stare, and on one's breath a shadow cast from rocky height that rise up there… — There by the cemetery wall, you stood with me, — do you recall? And fresher than a mountain stream the April kiss to us did seem. 20 May [1930s] 611. Дмитрий Кленовский (1893–1976). Ангелу-хранителю[272] From my childhood, you were always near me— in a woman's tender first embrace, in the floor that bore my infant footsteps, in the first warm sunlight on my face. After that, you always walked beside me, gave me Paris in the month of May, Andalusian gardens, Roman sunrise, — speaking Russian all along my way. Then, I thought — not knowing you were with me — that it was myself I used to hear; there was too much noise and too much gladness drowning out all else in my young ear. It is only now, when all is quiet, that I have been able to divine finally, the voice — in all the stillness — which I long ago mistook for mine. Now I know: if ever I was worthy in this life, from very early youth; if at any time my earthly falsehood had in any way resembled truth; if I kissed a woman without wounding, felt a flower, and it never died, — it was all because you leaned to touch me, all because you never left my side. And of all the things you did, the wisest was that all day long till night would fall you were always able to protect me from myself, most dangerous of all. March 1960 612. Дмитрий Кленовский (1893–1976). В лесу[273] Hot as a bonfire is the summer noon, but in this wood relief awaits you still, the morning freshness will not leave it soon, and it is all suffused with early chill. Stay for a while. Sit in the nut-grove bower upon this hidden moss-grown stump, and hear, while drinking in the languor of the hour, the wondrous tale unfolding for your ear. A leaf is wafted to the mossy ground; fragrant, the little mushrooms upward reach; a sigh, a rustle, whisperings… the sound, insatiable, of creation's speech. 28 Feb. 1961 613. Дмитрий Кленовский (1893–1976). Всевышнему[274] By the starry sky and my own soul You proclaim that You indeed exist. As an infant blind from the beginning, never having known his mother's face, yet remembers whispering and singing, hands caressing tenderly and bringing gentle warmth and never-ending grace, so do I, not having ever seen You, know You, feel Your breath from where I stand, hear Your song, Your whisper understand, and against all human earthly reason recognize the warmth that is Your hand. 13 Mar. 1961 614. Дмитрий Кленовский (1893–1976). Наш мир[275] Of course, it's fair! Not in the present the end of which it cannot see and not in that which it bewails or does not have the strength to be. But in the changing succession of suddenly bedazzled days, its gift of momentary gladness the transient kindness of its ways. So all around us, and forever: under a dagger's constant aim people will kiss and gather flowers and build their houses just the same. In spite of all the grief of partings, of all the hands wrung in despair, of all premeditated falsehood, it still will be forever fair! 17 July 1965 615. Дмитрий Кленовский (1893–1976). Звезды[276] Children are taught in textbooks that stars are so far away — I somehow never believed them, those things they used to say. I used to love as a child to stay awake in bed: and stars would ever so lightly rain tinkling round my head. From the blackened boughs of chestnuts I would shake them down to the sand, and, filling my pockets with them, could buy the wealth of the land. Since then I've been mean and stingy, — oh heart! — but, forsaking youth, I never forgot, growing older, my childhood's merry truth. We live low down on the ground and the sky is so far, and yet — I know that the stars are near us and can be easily met. вернуться From the collection Прикосновенье, Munich, 1959. вернуться From the collection Навстречу небу, Frankfurt-on-Maine, 1952. вернуться From the collection След жизни, Frankfurt-on-Maine, 1950. вернуться From the collection Разрозненная тайна, Munich, 1965. Variant in the first line of the first stanza in the manuscript: «Oh, yes, it's good! Not in the present.» вернуться From the collection Навстречу небу, Frankfurt-on-Maine, 1952. |
