Every church sings its own soft part

Every church sings its own soft part
In the polyphony of a girl's choir,
And in the stone arches of the Assumption
I make out high, arched brows.

From the ramparts, fortified by archangels,
I surveyed the city from a marvelous height.
Within the walls of the Acropolis, I was consumed
With sorrow for the Russian name, for Russian beauty.

Isn't it just marvelous, we dream
Of an orchard, soaring pigeons in the hot blue sky,
A nun is singing the litany:
Tender Assumption: Florence in Moscow.

The five-domed cathedrals of Moscow,
With their Italian and Russian soul
Bring to mind the Aurora, but with a
Russian name, and in a fur coat.

poem by Osip Emilevich Mandelstam
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I am cold. Transparent Spring dresses

I

I am cold. Transparent Spring dresses
Petropolis in verdant down.
But like a medusa, the Neva's wave
Stirs up in me a slight aversion.
Along the northern bank,
The headlights speed away.
Steel dragonflies and beetles are flying,
Golden pinpoints of starlight glimmer,
But not one of those stars will kill
The heavy emerald of the water's wave.

II

We shall die in transparent Petropolis
Where Persephone reigns over us.
We drink with every breath the deathly air
And every hour is our last.
Terrible Athena, goddess of the sea,

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poem by Osip Emilevich Mandelstam
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Petropolis

From a fearful height, a wandering light,
but does a star glitter like this, crying?
Transparent star, wandering light
your brother, Petropolis, is dying.

From a fearful height, earthly dreams are alight,
and a green star is crying.
Oh star, if you are the brother of water and light,
your brother, Petropolis, is dying.

A monstrous ship, from a fearful height,
is rushing on, spreading its wings, flying.
Green star, in beautiful poverty,
your brother, Petropolis, is dying.

Transparent spring has broken, above the black Neva’s hiss
the wax of immortality is liquefying.
Oh if you are star – your city, Petropolis,
your brother, Petropolis, is dying.

poem by Osip Emilevich Mandelstam
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O this air, intoxicated with sedition

O this air, intoxicated with sedition,
On the black square of the Kremlin.
The agitators rock the teetering world .
It smells of restless poplars.

The waxen facades of the cathedrals,
The thick forest of bells,
As if a tongueless bandit
Had vanished in the stony rafters.

But in the sealed cathedrals,
Where it is cool and dark,
Like in delicate clay amphoras,
The Russian wine sparkles.

The whole Assumption, wonderfully rotund,
The marvel of the arches of Paradise.
And the Annunciation, in green,
Suddenly seems to start to crow.

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poem by Osip Emilevich Mandelstam
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As Psyche-Life goes down to the shades

As Psyche-Life goes down to the shades
In a translucent forest in Persephone's tracks,
A blind swallow falls at her feet
With Stygian tenderness and a green branch.

The shades flock to meet the fugitive,
Welcome their new visitor with laments,
Wring their feeble hands before her
Bewildered and in timid hope.

One holds a mirror, another a phial of perfume --
The soul is a woman, fond of trifles
And the leafless forest is sprinkled with fine rain of
Laments, dry transparent voices.

And in the gentle confusion, not knowing what to begin,
The soul does not recognize the spectral wood,
Breathes on the mirror, and hesitates to give
The copper coin from the misty crossing.

poem by Osip Emilevich Mandelstam
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I had not tried the wine that ancients made

I had not tried the wine that ancients made,
And had not heard of Ossian’s old tune;
So why, on earth, I seem to see the glade,
And, in the skies -- the bloody Scottish moon?

And the call-over of a raven with a harp
I faintly hear in that silence, full of fright,
And, spread by winds, the winter woolen scarves
Of knights are flashing in the red moonlight!

I had received the blessing to inherit
Another singer’s ever rambling dreams;
For kin’s and neighbor’s spiritual merits
To have despise we’re absolutely free.

And not a lone treasure, I suppose,
Will pass grandchildren and to others fling,
Again a scald will ancient songs compose,
And, as his own, will again them sing.

poem by Osip Emilevich Mandelstam
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I want to serve you

1

I want to serve you
On an equal footing with others;
From jealousy, to tell your fortune
With dry lips. The word does not slake
My parched mouth,
And without you, the dense air
Is empty for me again.

2

I am not jealous anymore,
But I want you,
Alone I will take myself,
Like a sacrifice, to the hangman.
I will call you
Neither joy, nor love;
Some wild and strange blood
Was switched with mine.

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poem by Osip Emilevich Mandelstam
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In a crystal whirlpool, such steepness!

1

In a crystal whirlpool, such steepness!
Behind us the sienna mountains stand out,
Jagged cathedrals of raving mad cliffs
Are suspended in the air,
Where there is wool and silence.

2

From the hanging staircase of prophets and kings,
Descends an organ, the fortress of the Holy Ghost,
The brave barking and gentle ferocity of sheepdogs,
The sheepskins of shepherds, and the staffs of judges.

3

Here is motionless ground, and along with it
I drink the cold mountain air of Christianity,
The abrupt Credo and the psalmist's pause,

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poem by Osip Emilevich Mandelstam
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On a sleigh, padded with straw

On a sleigh, padded with straw,
Barely covered by the fateful mat,
From the Vorobevy hills to the familiar chapel
We rode through enormous Moscow.

But in Uglich, the children play mumbletypeg,
And it smells of bread left in the oven.
They carry me along the streets without my hat;
In the oratory three candles burn.

Not three burning candles -- three meetings.
One consecrated by God Himself.
A fourth would never be, but Rome is far --
And He was never fond of Rome.

The sled dashed through black ruts,
People were returning from the promenade.

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poem by Osip Emilevich Mandelstam
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Twilight Of Freedom

1

Let us glorify, brothers, the twilight of freedom --
The great twilight year.
A weighty forest of nets is lowered
Into the bubbling waters of night.
You are rising into desolate years,
O sun, judge, people.

2

Let us glorify the fateful burden,
Which the nation's chief takes up in tears.
Let us glorify the twilight burden of power,
Its unbearable weight.
Whoever has the heart should hear, time,
How your ship is sinking.

3

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poem by Osip Emilevich Mandelstam
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