* * *
With a rattle we are walking
Round the cradle, flowering, fading.
Between the Arctic and Turkmenia,
Between the Polish lands and China.
With a deep sob we abandon
Clouds above the Lycée puddle —
Between Oedipus and Lear,
Between Julius and Brutus.
We keep our reason healthy,
Dim the light above the folio,
Make a crib for naked phrases,
Between Pushkin and Alighieri.
Highlighting the reprises,
We find a vast connection
Between Blok and Persian Hafiz
Between the Muse and Cassandra.
And breathing, hyperborean,
We sail through, caravel-like,
Between Zhenya and Andrei,
Between Bella and Novella.
But like a gory bullfight,
The ancient path is threatening,
Between Scylla and Charybdis,
Between Anna and Marina.
Between Scylla and Charybdis,
Between Anna and Marina,
He whom the gulf has swallowed,
Was spat out by it likewise.
Consequences became a cause.
I’ll explain this odd idea:
He whom Marina swallowed,
Was spat out then by Anna.
In all our born days, never
Did we command the Golden Mean —
Between Anna and Marina.
Between the Polish lands and China.
And above our native chasm —
Who knows how! — look, we are flying
Between Anna and Marina.
Between the Polish lands and China.
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