Clear Voices | Page 2

just like that - we die.?No happiness on earth, yet there's freedom, peace.?I've long dreamt of an enviable fate -?I've long thought, a weary slave, to fly?to some far place of labour and true joy.
F?dor Tyútchev (1803-1873)
Silentium
Silence: hide yourself, conceal?your feelings and your dreams -?let them rise and set once more?in the abyss of your spirit,?silent, white stars in the night -?wonder at them - and be silent.?How can one's own heart speak??How can another know??Will they see what you live by??A thought once spoken is a lie:?troubling the streams, you cloud them -?drink from them - and be silent.?Know how to live deep inside -?there's a universe in your mind?of mysterious thoughts, enchantments:?they'll be drowned by World outside?they'll be driven off by daylight -?hear them singing - and be silent! …
My Darling
My darling, I love your eyes?with their miraculous flash of fire,?when you lift them for an instant?and, like lightning from the sky,?cast a swift glance around you.?But there's a greater magic still:?your eyes downcast?in a passionate kiss?and through your lowered lashes?the dark, smouldering flame of desire.
I Knew?I knew two eyes - those eyes, oh?how I loved them - God knows.?I couldn't tear my soul?from their intense, bewitching darkness.?Such sorrow, such passion showed?in that deep gaze?that laid life bare,?such depth, such sorrow!?Sad and self-absorbed it trembled,?in the deep shadow of her lashes,?wearied like sensual pleasure,?and deadly like pain.?And in those magic moments?there was never a time?I met it without emotion,?or admired it without tears.
Eve of the Anniversary (4th August 1864)?I walk on, down the road,?in the quiet evening light,?my heart is heavy, my legs are weary….?my dearest one, can you see me??Darker and darker on earth -?the last glint of day is done…?this world where we were together,?my angel, can you see me??Tomorrow, sadness and prayer,?tomorrow that day's anniversary…?my angel wherever souls may be,?my angel, can you see me?
Mikhaíl Lérmontov (1814-1841)
The Dream
Noon heat, a gorge in Daghestan,?I lay still, a bullet in my chest:?The deep wound was still red-hot,?blood seeped, drop by drop.?I lay lonely on the gorge's sand,?the cliff-ledges towered around,?the sun burned their yellow heights,?and I - I slept like the dead.?And I dreamed of a midnight ball,?in my homeland, gleaming light,?young girls wreathed in flowers?talking about me, with delight.?But one sat there, deep in thought,?not part of the joyful theme,?and her young soul, God knows,?was plunged in the saddest dream.?Her dream, a gorge in Daghestan…?in that gorge a friend lay dead,?a black wound in his chest:?of dark blood a cooling stream…
Alone?Alone, I come to the road.?The stony track gleams in the mist:?the calm night listens to God,?and star is speaking to star.?All's marvellous, grave, in the sky!?Earth sleeps in the radiant blue…?Why such pain then, such weight on the heart??Do I regret, wait for something new??I expect no more from this life?and I've no regrets for the past.?I look for freedom and peace:?I want rest and oblivion at last…?But not the chill peace of the grave:?I'd like to sleep for all time?so life's powers slept in my chest,?and it heaved with my gentle breath:?an enchanted voice in my ear?singing, day and night, of love:?and a dark oak to rustle over me,?and bend down from above.
Count Alekséy Tolstoy (1817-1875)?Spring
It was at the dawn of spring,?the grass was barely green,?streams ran, the heat was gentle,?light shone through the trees:?no sound of shepherd's flute?yet, in the morning world,?and the slender forest fern?was still so tightly curled.?It was at the dawn of spring,?in the shadow of the birch-trees,?that you dropped your gaze?before me with a smile…?It was in reply to love, my love,?your glance was lowered -?O life! O leaves! O sunlight!?O youth! O hope!?And I wept before you,?as I gazed at your sweet face -?it was at the dawn of spring,?in the shadow of the birch-trees!?In the morning of our lives -?O happiness! O heartache!?O leaves! O life! O sunlight!?O the fragrance of the trees!
Innokénty ánnensky (1856-1909)
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.?The Steel Cicada
I knew she would return?to be with me - Anguish.?With the tinkle and slam?of the watchmaker's lid.?He who clicks the lid