|From the book The Evening Song|
|To Anna Velikanova|
I will call you and my heart will rejoice:
mint, honey, ginger, caraway,
You are the delight of shortening days,
a guest of the earth, Benjamin.
At the hour of birth,
swelled up quicksilver gazes out from a well
and laughs on its very lips
like on a wet-nurse’s breast.
O Creator, in Your canyons,
in the silence of Your deserts,
on a swing of stars swung to the limit,
from the walls of your strongholds,
look out at these locks of hair:
do You see, as I see them,
it seems that all who breathe are children,
all who see are sons;
because each who trespasses against another
will partake of this cup.
O, isn’t it what Moses
saw, hiding among the mountain rocks?
I will call him and he will turn around,
and he will stand, like everyone, alone.
The hour of birth is the hour of orphanhood
as well as widowhood, Benjamin.
|Slava I. Yastremski and Michel Naydan|