Иосиф Бродский - В Италии Роберто и Флер...

Joseph Brodsky - In Italy
Roberto and Fleur Calasso

 And I once lived in a city where they grew on houses
 statues where along the streets with a cry of "grow! grow!"
 the local philosopher was running, shaking his beard,
 and the endless promenade made life short.

 Now the sun is setting there, the caryatid is blind.
 But those who loved me more than themselves,
 no longer alive. Having lost contact with the object
 stalking, dogs sniffing scraps,

 and this is their resemblance to memory, to the life of things. Sunset;
 voices in the distance, cries like "bastard!"
 go away! "in another's dialect. But there is nothing more clear.
 And the world's best lagoon with a golden dove

 sparkles strongly, the pupil tearing off.
 A man who has lived to the point where you can’t
 love him more, disdain to swim against the contrary
 furious current, hiding in perspective.

Anna Akhmatova - Venice

Golden dovecote by the water
Affectionate and dull green;
The breeze is salty
Black boats have narrow tracks.

How many gentle, strange faces in the crowd.
Each shop has bright toys:
With a lion book on an embroidered pillow,
With a book a lion on a marble pillar.

Like an ancient, faded canvas
The sky is turning dull blue ...
But not crowded in this cramped
And not stuffy in dampness and heat.

Nikolay Gumilev - Venice

Late. Giants on the tower
Three boomed.
Heart of fearless nights
Traveler, be silent and look.

The city is like the voice of a mollusk
In a ghostly bright past
Lace patterned arcade,
Water froze glass.

True, hide the sorceress
Black Gondola Veils
Where the lights on the lagoon
- Thousands of fire bees.

Lion on a column and bright
Lion's eyes burn
Holds the gospel of Mark,
Like the seraphs of the winged.

And on the heights of the cathedral,
Where from the mosaic shine
Choo, pigeon choir
Sigh, cooing and splashing.

Maybe this is just a joke
Rock and water witchcraft,
Haze? The traveler is creepy
Suddenly ... nobody, nothing?

Shouted. He was not heard
He, breaking off, fell
In unsteady, pale distances
Venetian mirrors.

Alexander Block - Venice

Cold wind from the lagoon.
Gondolas speechless coffin.
I'm on this night - sick and young -
Prostrate at the lion's pillar.

On the tower, with a cast-iron song,
The giants beat the midnight hour.
Mark drowned in the lunar lagoon
Patterned your iconostasis.

In the shadow of the palace gallery
Slightly moonlit
Lurking, passes Salome
With my bloody head.

Everything is sleeping - palaces, canals, people,
Just a ghost sliding step
Only a head on a black dish
Looks longingly at the surrounding darkness.

Boris Pasternak - Venice

I was woken up early
Clicking the window pane.
Soaked stone bagel
Venice floated in the water.

Everything was quiet and, however,
In a dream I heard a scream and he
Like a silent sign
Still worried about the horizon.

He's hanging a scorpion's trident
Over the surface of the abated mandolins
And a woman offended
Perhaps it was published in the distance.

Now he's verse and black fork
Sticking out on the stalk in the darkness.
Grand Canal with a slanting grin
He looked around like a fugitive.

Far beyond the boat parking
In the remnants of sleep, reality was born.
Venice by the Venetian
Swam from the embankments.

Henry Longfellow - Venice

O swan of cities, water and sun brother!
Asleep, as in a nest, between reeds, in the middle of silt
The lagoons that nurtured and raised you,
As all historians and guests say.

Like a giant lily, you conceived
From the blue sea, whose abyss has protected
Your houses, palaces, your temple, your sails,
And solar power, and a knightly outfit.

Oh ghostly city, where instead of streets there are rivers,
Where in the shaky depths the pattern is always moving,
From roofs, porticos, and boats, and bridges,

I think it’s about to disappear forever,
Mirage: distant fleet, going to vastness,
Ile castle, which grew for a moment from the clouds.

Translation - V.V. Levika