When I think of Alexander Blok,
When I miss him in my days,
I remember not his enigmatic lines,
But a carriage, bridges, and the Neva waves.
And above the voices of the night,
I see the rider’s image clearly-cut –
The rings outlining awful eyes,
The etching of his blackened coat.
The lights and shadows rush toward him,
The stars dissolve beneath his way,
The waxen fingers clasped in frenzy
Show something higher than dismay.
And as in some obscure prologue,
Whose essence stays both deep and dark,
The mist envelopes rattling carriage,
The cobblestones, the clouds and Blok.
* * *
Когда я думаю о Блоке
1957
vip24/06/20
Yevgeny Yevtushenko-When I think of Alexander Blok
© Copyright: Виктор Постников, 2020
Свидетельство о публикации №120062403106
Свидетельство о публикации №120062403106
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