The line
that remained, that
became true: . . . your
house in Paris — become
the alterpiece of your hands.
Breathed through thrice,
shone through thrice.
……………….
It’s turning dumb, turning deaf
behind our eyes.
I see the poison flower
in all manner of words and shapes.
Go. Come.
Love blots out its name: to
you it ascribes itself.
Tr. Michael Hamburger
End of the poem
15 random poems
- Джон Мильтон – Псалом 1
- Suppressed Stanzas of “The Vision” by Robert Burns
- Road-Song of the Bandar-Log by Rudyard Kipling
- With a Bouquet of Twelve Roses by Vachel Lindsay
- Burnt in contemplation by Nishant Deherkar
- Владимир Степанов – Как живете? Что жуете?
- Владимир Корнилов – Нищий
- Sketch—New Year’s Day, 1790 by Robert Burns
- Владимир Маяковский – Товарище, не забывайте о Врангеле-бароне! (РОСТА № 116)
- From Paumanok Starting. by Walt Whitman
- Gold Mouths Cry by Sylvia Plath
- Олег Бундур – Спешу
- The Death Of Huss poem – Alfred Austin
- Владимир Маяковский – Не эти правильно Октябрь празднуют… (РОСТА №398)
- Not my poem
Some external links:
Duckduckgo.com – the alternative in the US
Quant.com – a search engine from France, and also an alternative, at least for Europe
Yandex – the Russian search engine (it’s probably the best search engine for image searches).
