Nina Gorsky

Let it be blessed – your castle of the green,
Where reigns the wilderness of grass and gentle dodder,
Where flowers, with their bowls, ring
And pour dew on the rose-paleness, spotted 
By that slim moon which for a lot of years, 
To spite the earth, her canning game still plays
And as if dying – holds its silver breath,
And then mankind is sunk in darkness here, 
In silence… And I bless you, every one, –
Close your eyes and drink this divine coolness
And just remember: there is none else goodness,
But in morn’s hours to meet the rise of sun!
And there’s a man’s last whim to peoples’ kindness:
When you just see, before going to sleep,
The moon that like the yellow hoop slips
Over the roofs of neighbors in the murkiness,
Then let a poet flesh before your eyes.
He’s now striding under this dust, starry, –
That Don Quixote, lost of horse and arms,
He loves you… but it’s late for him to hurry.


Translated by Yevgeny Bonver, June, 2001