В далёком уже 2011 году, на летней школе...

Back in 2011, at a summer school in Krakow I was lucky (that’s exactly that word!) To attend a special course in Polish poetry. It was the most interesting lecture course that I heard, and he impressed me then fairly. And most of all, Vyslava Shimborskaya sank into my soul, the poetry of which was devoted to a whole lecture (and this is sooooo much, as part of a special course))) I remember, I published these verses, but over the years they somehow forgotten, got lost . And then on occasion I remembered)

There are those who ...

There are those who live prudently than others.
And in themselves, and around - there is always order.
They have an approach to everything, they have an answer to everything.

They instantly guess who’s who, who with whom,
for what purpose, in what way.

They slam the seal of immutable truths,
they throw inappropriate facts into the chopper,
they hide strangers
to pre-prepared folders.

They think as much as they should,
and not a minute longer
for doubt is hidden in an extra minute.

And when they are freed from being,
they leave their post
through the prescribed doors.

Sometimes I envy them ...
Fortunately, this goes away.

(translation by Boris Kosenkov)

They are both convinced
that their unexpected feelings connected.
Such confidence is wonderful
but uncertainty is better.

I think that until they met closer,
nothing between them has ever happened.
And what will the streets, steps, corridors say,
on which they could meet for a long time?

I would like to ask them
don't you remember -
maybe in the revolving doors
once face to face?
any "sorry" in the crowd?
voice "error" in the handset?
- but I know their answer.
No, they don’t remember.

They were very surprised
that for a long time
played a case with them.

Not quite ready yet
turn into fate for them,
brought them together and put them away
I ran across the road
and suppressing laughter
bounced to the side.

There were signs, signals,
What with the fact that they are illegible.
Maybe three years ago
or last tuesday
some letter fluttered
from hand to hand?
There was something dead and rebellious.
Who knows if the ball
in the thickets of childhood?

There were door handles and bells
on which in advance
the touch was on the touch.
Suitcases next to each other in the hallway.
Maybe one night the same dream
immediately after waking up forgotten.

After all, every beginning
this is only a further move,
and the book of cases
always half open.

CAT IN AN EMPTY APARTMENT

To die is impossible with a cat.
For what will the cat do
in an empty apartment.
Climb the wall.
Wiping among the furniture.
Nothing seems to have changed,
but everything seemed to be replaced.
Nothing seems to be budged
but everything is not in place.
And in the evenings the lamp does not shine.

Footsteps are heard on the stairs
but not those.
The hand that put the fish on the plate
also not one, the other.

Something doesn't start here.
in its usual time.
Something's not happening here.
as it should.
Someone was and was here,
and then suddenly disappeared
and there is none and none.

Examined all cabinets.
Climbed all the shelves.
Looked under the carpet.
Even contrary to the ban
scattered paper.
What else can be done here.
Just sleep and wait.

Well let him just come back
let it only seem.
Already then he finds out
so it’s impossible with a cat.

Gotta go in his direction
as if I don’t feel like it at all
quietly
on very offended paws.
And there are no jumps, meows at first.
compels the absence.

translation by Natalya Astafieva

Happy love.
Happy love. Is it normal,
is it serious, is it useful -
what the world has from these two people,
who do not see the world?
Proud of each other without any merit,
just the first best of a million
but convinced
what was supposed to happen - as a reward
for what?
for nothing;
the light came out of nowhere -
why on these, and not on others?

(line-by-line translation of M. Davish)