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 Evening Song
A Lullaby
They used to sing, trying to persuade
time for bed, and on the way
they spin wool, and the sky stretches
into its own darkness.

Candlelight casts a figure eight,
ships sail into the open sea,
the sea stirs in a pillow:
in a pillow, in a seashell, in a distant window.
Where’s the Christmas knitting needle of the star?
Where is my grandmother, my sweet sister?
We’ve walked together for so long
and we’ve talked:

look it’s such a familiar,
such an unknown doorway!
Who’s missed us there? Who is so alone
in a childless home, as though in a wide-open field?

We won’t go where people are wicked,
where we are forbidden to go,
but here beds have been made for us
and we are taught to live in peace,
we will not part.
A face flashed in the window.
We have to take off our shoes when we enter.
The evening star stretched its hands to us
like an all-seeing but blind mother.
Slava I. Yastremski and Michel Naydan
All the Works
Trees, Strong Wind
A Song
To V.V. Bibikhin
 A Lullaby
A Childhood Visit to a Village
In Memory of Father Alexander Men’
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