The chalice was suspended in the air

The chalice was suspended in the air
Like the golden sun for a splendid moment.
Here only Greek should be heard:
To take the whole world in your hands, like a simple apple.

The triumphal zenith of the service,
Light in a round room under a cupola in July,
So outside of time we could fully sigh
About that meadow, where time doesn't fly.

The Eucharist drags on like an eternal noon --
Everyone takes the Sacrament, performs, and sings,
In view of everyone the sacred vessel
Pours out with inexhaustible rejoicing.

poem by Osip Emilevich Mandelstam
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A young Levite among priests

A young Levite among priests,
He remained long on morning watch.
Jewish night grew thick around him,
The ruined temple was solemnly being raised.

He said: the yellow of the skies is alarming.
Run, priests, for night is already over the Euphrates!
But the elders thought: this is not our fault;
Behold the black and yellow light, the joy, the Jews.

He was with us when, on the stream's shore,
We swaddled the sabbath in precious linen
With a heavy menorah lit the night of Jerusalem,
The heady fumes of non-existence.

poem by Osip Emilevich Mandelstam
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Insomnia. Homer. Taut canvas.

Insomnia. Homer. Taut canvas.
Half the catalogue of ships is mine:
that flight of cranes, long stretched-out line,
that once rose, out of Hellas.

To an alien land, like a phalanx of cranes –
Foam of the gods on the heads of kings –
Where do you sail? What would the things
of Troy, be to you, Achaeans, without Helen?

The sea, or Homer – all moves by love’s glow.
Which should I hear? Now Homer is silent,
and the Black Sea thundering its oratory, turbulent,
and, surging, roars against my pillow.

poem by Osip Emilevich Mandelstam
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Just for joy, take from my palms

Just for joy, take from my palms
A little sun, a little honey,
As Persephone's bees commanded.

An unfastened boat cannot be untied.
A shade shod in fur cannot be heard.
In the dense forest of life fear cannot be overcome.

Only kisses are left for us.
Furry, like small bees
That die when they leave the hive.

They rustle in transparent thickets of night,
Their home is the dense Taiga woods;
Their food -- time, honeysuckle, mint.

So take and enjoy my passionate gift,
A dry, unsightly necklace
Of dead bees, who changed honey into sun.

poem by Osip Emilevich Mandelstam
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To M.L. Lozinsky

I feel the undefeated fear,
In presence of the misty heights;
I'm glad that swallows fly here
And I enjoy the belfry's flight!

The ancient traveler is going, I suppose,
Above the gulf on bending footway's planks,
The snow ball continues in its growth,
And great eternity on clocks of stone strikes.

But I am not that traveler at all,
That flashes on the dry and faded leaves,
And really in me the sadness calls;

Indeed, the avalanche among the highlands lives!
A ring of bells my own soul fills -
But music cannot save from devastating falls!

poem by Osip Emilevich Mandelstam
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I can’t sleep

I can’t sleep. Homer, and the taut white sails.
I could the list of ships read only to a half:
The long-long breed, the train of flying cranes
Had lifted once the ancient Greece above.

The wedge of cranes to alien far frontier --
On heads of kings, as foam, crowns shine --
Where do you sail? If Helen were not here,
What Troy then means for you, Achaeia’s people fine?

And Homer and the sea are moved by only love.
Whom must I listen to? Homer is silent yet,
And blackened sea with roar comes above,
Sunk in triumphant noise, head of my sleepless bed.

poem by Osip Emilevich Mandelstam
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To cure wounds is so rigid

To cure wounds is so rigid:
They drank the air and poisoned bread.
Young Joseph who was sold to Egypt
Could not be more deathly sad!

The nomads under starry dome,
With eyes, half-closed, and on horse,
Compose sagas, while they roam,
About day they vaguely crossed.

Few things they need for inspiration:
One lost his quiver in the sand;
One changed his horse ... . In peaceful fashion
The daily mist comes to its end;

And if a song is simply gaining
Your heart with non-predicted grace,
All vanish -- only they are reigning:
The stars, the singer, and the space!

poem by Osip Emilevich Mandelstam
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The falling is the constant mate of fear

The falling is the constant mate of fear,
And feel of emptiness is the feel of fright.
Who throws us the stones from the height --
And stones here refuse the dust to bear?

Once, striding in a monk’s unbending mode,
You pierced the yard from rim to other rim;
The cobble-stones and the coarse dream --
Have thirst for death and sadness of the broad-

Let Gothic shelter be in ruins turned
Where ceiling serves as a deceptive fable,
And in the heath the gaily logs don’t burn!

A few here for eternity were born;
But if your mind has only instant label
Your lot is awful and your home unstable!

poem by Osip Emilevich Mandelstam
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Let us go where there are varied crafts

1

Let us go where there are varied crafts
And trades -- shashlik and chebureki,
Where trousers on a sign give us
The idea of a man.
A man's frock coat: headless aspiration,
The barber's flying fiddle, a mesmerizing iron,
The appearance of heavenly washer-women --
The smile of heaviness.

2

Here, the girls, their bangs aging,
Contemplate the strange attire,
Admirals in stiff three-cornered hats
Bring Scheherezade's dream to mind.
The distance is transparent. A few grapes.
A fresh wind ever blowing.

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poem by Osip Emilevich Mandelstam
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I dream of hunchbacked Tiflis

I dream of hunchbacked Tiflis,
Where a Sazandar's groan resounds
The people cluster on the bridge,
The crowd carpets the whole capital,
While below, the Kuramurmurs.

Above the Kura are dukhans
Where there is wine and good pilaf,
A ruddy dukhanshchik
Gives glasses to the guests,
He is ready to serve you.

The thick Cahetian wine
In the cellar is ready to drink --
There in the coolness, in peace,
You drink your fill, drink in pairs:
Don't drink alone.

In the smallest dukhan,
If you ask for Teliani,

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poem by Osip Emilevich Mandelstam
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