blank verse
The Winter Tremble blank verse by Stéphane Mallarmé (1842-1898), my translation Always slow, among flowers and deities, the clock striking thirteen. Who previously owned… Read More »blank verse
The Winter Tremble blank verse by Stéphane Mallarmé (1842-1898), my translation Always slow, among flowers and deities, the clock striking thirteen. Who previously owned… Read More »blank verse
The Butterfly by Afanasy Fet (1820-1892) You’re right. An outline of Air I am so sweet. My velvet with its living blinking– only two… Read More »poem in my translation
Dark night has choked daylight. Day is dead. It won’t come back to senses any more. You killed the time again. You must be mad… Read More »Time
An always open door In a silver night The sky is crowded with stars. Green waves are surging and soaring In the forest of wind… Read More »Mongol Yurt, a door never locked