ANNENSKY, Innokenty

Ideal

The dull sounds of gas flares

Above the dead brightness of heads,

The tedium’s black contagion

From deserted tables,

And there, among the sallow-faced,

Harbouring the anguish of the habit,

Trying to solve on the discoloured pages

The odious puzzle of being.

Incantation

Through the tall gates,

From beyond the Okhta marshes,

On the un-travelled track,

Through the un-mown meadow,

Past the cordon of night,

At the chime of Easter bells,

Uninvited,

Un-promised:

Come; sit to the table with me.


After the Concert

The blackened skies have reached the garden walk;

Yet my poor heart tonight cannot be not the restless…

The lights that have been failed, the lost of sounds talk,

Are they the remnants of the dream in sadness?

Oh, how sad it was, the satin of her dress,

Her breast was very white, among the straps black fair!

How sorry I was then to see her eyes distressed,

Her hands in snowy gloves, resigned as to a prayer!

And how much her soul was mercilessly dispersed,

Among the tearless, cold-hearted and unsettled!

Like sounds, bred in silence, were there spelled —

The starry sounds — lilac, bright, and gentle!

Like at an anguish’s flesh, from broken a lace,

In dazzling light of moon, with gentleness and fire,

Roll dawn amethysts into the dewy mire,

And die without trace.

The Bow and the Strings

«How deep and dark the delirium!

How clouded the moonlit heights!

To have touched the violin so long

yet not know the strings in the light!

Who wants us now? Who lights

two faded melancholy faces?»...

And the bow felt someone suddenly

seize them, and bring them together.

«Oh how long! Tell me the one thing,

in the dark: are you the same, the same?»

And the strings pressed close, caressing

sounding, trembling in that caress.

«Is it true, yes? Enough separation,

and we’ll not part again?»

And the violin said yes

though its heart was gripped with pain.

The bow knew, and was still,

but the note rang in the violin,

and what seemed music to others,

was torment and ruin to them.

And till dawn the player did not quench

the candles…the strings sang on instead…

and the sun, alone, found them,

drained, on the black velvet bed.

Twin Sails

Whether a fiery heat hangs here,

Or the foaming waves run free,

Twin sails of the one vessel,

We are filled by the one breeze.

A storm of longing poured over us,

With its retinue of mad dreams,

Yet fate has silently drawn a line,

Forever, between us, it seems.

Where all is dark, and borne darkly,

In the starless southern night,

Two sails, alone, are forbidden,

Incandescently, to unite.

Translation: A.S. KLINE