Zinaida Gippius

My world is like a chamber, narrow, – 
It’s very low, very small.
In four its corners sit four fellows – 
Four spiders, diligent in all.

They are all fat, adroit, and dirty,  
And always spin and spin the web…
And it is awful – their portly,
Monotonous and even step.

With four their webs, when they were ready,
They spun the immense one, at last.  
I watch their fat backs’ movement, steady, 
In darkness of the stinking dust.                        

My eyes – under the webbing’s level: 
It’s gray, and soft, and sticky, yet.
And they are glad with gladness, evil, -- 
Four spiders, fat.


Translated by Yevgeny Bonver, November, 2000