About the Author
Books

POETRY  
PROSE
ESSAYS
INTERVIEW
From the book Kliazma and Yauza
From the book The Wild Rose
From the book Tristan and Isolde
From the book Old Songs
From the book Gates. Windows. Arches  
From the book Stanzas in the Manner of Alexander Pope
From the book Stellae and Inscriptions
From the book The Iambic Verses
The Chinese Travelogue
From An Unfinished Book
From the book The Evening Song
From the book Elegies
From the book The Beginning of a Book
From the book Gates. Windows. Arches
(1979–1983)
On the Death of Leonid Gubanov
Goodbye, my friend, Goodbye
S. Esenin
Or death is news and we ourselves wouldn’t say
everything else no longer suits us?
Surely, it’s the end, flying with harness bells,
that forms the sound of the line?

Even the most foolish of men listened attentively to this –
with its bell in the distance.
Because, Lyonya, the poet’s gift
gratifies the earth so much.

Who from the burdensome, passionate treasures
close at random a little casket of delight?
Who else will praise this beautiful world
where they drown us like kittens?

As a sleepwalker on a tightrope, dozing off deeper,
oversteps Nature,
do you know what I step over?
The needlessness of nothing.

Goodbay Lyonya. Like the troika from the romance
let the whole world be wiped out.
nothing’s frightening. One must do one’s best.
It cannot be that God has forgotten.

Roy Fisher

***

On the Death of Leonid Gubanov

Au revoir, my friend, au revoir.
S. Esenin

Or death is something new, and we ourselves wouldn’t say
that everything is more inconvenient?
Surely it’s the end, flying with harness bells,
that forms the sound of the line?

The most unwise man listened hard to this,
this thing with a bell far away.
Because, Lenya, the poet’s gift
is so full of joy for the earth.

Who admist the burdensome, passionate treasures
chose at random the little box of delight?
Who else will praise the beautiful world,
where we are drowned like kittens?

As a sleepwalking tightrope-walker, dozing off,
transgresses Nature,
do you know what I transgress?
The unnecessariness of nothing.

Au revoir, Lenya. Like the troika from the song
let even a whole world be rubbed out,
nothing’s frightening. One must try.
It cannot be that God has forgotten.

Gerald S. Smith
Not by sea, nor by tree, nor by powerful star...
Mountain Ode
An Old Testament Motif
The Grasshoper and the Cricket
In the Liquor Store
To Lycinius
In the desert of life… What am I saying...
 On the Death of Leonid Gubanov
Meeting
Spring
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