About the Author

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 The Wild Rose
Legends and Fantasies
(1976 - 1978)
Twelfth Legend
Sergey Radonezhsky
No one was left:
neither the boy looking at the water,
when the other boys were playing,
who saw strange plants
which were approached by names
like the smoke on Sundays:
fig, olive, palms,

nor the young man who was like hearing
and walked and walked outstripping the request,

nor the man, sharing his last bit of bread
with the bear, and putting up walls
on that hill, which was fulfilled like a dream...

nor the elder, about whom they said
that the angels conversed with him.

So, no one was left.
Neither the mentor of monks,
the teacher of the land that grew up,
nor the future, before which we will lay
down our heavy deeds and will say:
we won’t dare, but you intercede
for us. The soul is like
a broad circle of those looking at the event:
it goes on, it is still in tears,
and in first happiness, looking for happiness,

it is going away. It is like a flower.
Who will not pluck it, unless it’s you,
to your flowers, which are kneeling?
Intercede for us.
But at this late hour no one is left now.

There was a coniferous forest, ferns and horsetails,
and a bird’s cry, and bitter bushes,
and wooden air like a torch
burning for over ten days.
There someone was walking and thought of the path.
But suddenly he couldn’t help bowing
to that which was realised in his heart.

And he, who was not left there any longer,
who was already foul weather, the coniferous forest,
the shaking and expectant air,
who was a deep, sincere storehouse
of the mysterious northern wheat –

calmly bent down on his knees
before bowing
and could still be seen
from afar and everywhere and within.
Richard McKane
The Wild Rose
Second Legend
Sixth Legend
Seventh Legend. Death of Alexis the Roman Saint
Selva Selvaggia
Now in warm gold, in broad bindings...
Preamble to the Song
Strange Journey
The Flight of the Prodigal Sun
Night Legend. The Nun’s Funeral
Candlemas Day
Names fly out of the magical horn...
Cat, Butterfly, Candle
Water: The Peasant Woman
Eight Octets
In The Mood of Leopardi
I carry two books, as I go I am leaving...
We shall walk slowly and listen attentively...
I often dream of death offering...
Legends about ascetics are similar...
I cannot make them stop their music...
Three Mirrors
Farewell Wind
Somewhere in the corner of a neglected illness...
Journey of the magi
Mountain Lullaby
Morning in The Garden
The Cat’s Look
Azarovka. A Suite of Landscapes
Portrait of the Artist in his Picrure
Tenth Legend. Jacob
Eleventh Legend. Supper
 Twelfth Legend. Sergey Radonezhsky
Magic Stone
A Faible
“I raise the radiance, like a fallen hand...
The Old Poet
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