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translated by the author

* *  *
Among the ways unconsiously we choose,
not that – similiar with a Paradise,
but the unknown one all crowded with Grass
and maybe’ll call it – “Paradise”.

Among the million sands, which can’t be kept inside
your arms, a few are only used by Fate
to ornament its very nice design
by tearing off our souls to the end.

Among the rain drops falling on your face,
among the coins you keep for being luky
you see the way is long for long-long days
and covered all with golden Dust...

* *  *
That’s the winter – all my viens are frozen,
and in the streets is never ending rain.
What there is – wild men’s shouts or
the skies are shaken with their lasting pain?

And you fly like stone of the sling,
and you cannot change a smallest thing,
only blood – the drop by drops together –
closely binds into the coral beads.

That’s the fire’s flame that undermine the eyes
or the tear comes into the eye and flies –
the ancestor’s stone is falling at the end
of the summer lightning nothing said.

* *  *
Strips and strips of light and shadow –
an easy and delicate veil –
fall to the mountains of Urbino*
hiding the long-long way.

But the forefinger of time and abyss  –
the sunlight has slipped through the window -
gently have touched the bureau, the blind,
lingering over the mirror
suddenly got out from its very heart
a Vermeer’s art.

They are sighing – the mountains of Urbino –
with their sigh’s mist the streets are crowded,
the night has dissolved the ancient town,
one where the soul is full with the calm.

* the ancient Italian town



It is turning the lights up over Rambla.

Children gather,
clowns and poseurs,
an organ-grinder, a ventriloquist,
cheaters, performers of tricks,
living statues and this
one’s rising from the crypt…

It is surging the laugh over Rambla.

The crowd is rolling over boulevard Rambla
unhurriedly, roaring, and it’s
becoming so easy
and free.

* the boulevard  in Barcelona

translated by Lioudmila Vagurina

Just at this time until I write the line
A splendid fern is blooming up somewhere,
A lucky boy was born thanks to divine, 
A man felt in his pocket and a coin was there.

Just at this time until I write the line
For someone on the crossing somebody is waiting,
And someone’s stick is leafing out while
The arms have grown – those of the Venus statue.

Just at this time until I write the line,
And somebody is tiring someone out,
The April frost is crushing buds, hard lines
Has somebody - his death is going to about

Just at this time until I write the line,
My soul’s full of feeling certain that, inside,
A word is just the shell, but to my mind
The only thing’s eternal what incites it.


translated by Lioudmila Vagurina


We set the threads of feelings
and the ideas’ beads
into a lace of our docile verses.
The moving of a pen, an aerial stitch,
and a symbolic image soars
with no stains and no fetters...
Not adequate. Not adequate.

A hearts' alliance ends the current day
into the alcove's peace - where's plaited
by In and Ian the certain pattern
of their speechless haggling,
and the passion's melting
into the mist of ecstasy's delight,
and rubies with a crash blow up the sunset light...
Not adequate. Not adequate.

We come into the church,
there is the smell of wax and incense,
some grannies sell the candles and the crosses,
and all is painting sign of crossing,
the stable pleasant priest's voice is...
Not adequate. Not adequate.

But then there is the hour of evening meditation,
and mantra comes - I've no idea, what it is,
but enter into Calm's domain.
And later on I'll call it Brahman
(or Nature, Wisdom, or Creator,
or Self-delusion is its name).
Eternity is sounding so shrill and distinct there,
and it's the only one that's adequate.



K. Gauss

I’m looking at the bell of Gaussian curve
and see so stable and so tall it is
above the midst of human tribe – where chance
of being normal more than real is.

I'm cogitating how heavily, however,
it weighs upon the borders – its support,
on those, who are out of the crowd
or marked with sign, who are too great or small.

Who’re backing like the caryatids
the vault lest it comes crashing down
on stronghold of the earth abscissas
by sonorous and apocalypses blow.

And as far as my Lord put burden on
those both extremes, it seems
that negativity is one of basic things,
don't let the limited deny extremes.

Do Тнou see them: cripples, saints and headsmen,
and sick creators that nobody recognized?
Tell me, my Lord, do Thou see extremes
and grant the leprosarium to them in Paradise?

* The normal or Gauss distribution law tells that the more is deviation from
average, the less it is probable. Corresponding chart looks like cupola with maximum above the average and edges, that diminish to zero at infinity


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poems in English

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