Текст песни Вячеслав Логутин - Сосо Павлиашвили - Радовать

Combustion

      M. B.

      Winter evening. Firewood
      engulfed in fire -
      like a female head
      on a windy, clear day.

      How a strand is golden
      threatening blindness!
      She can’t be removed from her face.
      And for the best that is impossible.

      Do not part
      not split by comb:
      the gaze may open
      able to incinerate.

      I peer into the fire.
      In the language of fire
      “don’t touch”
      and flashes "me!"

      From this - hot.
      I hear through the crunch in the bone
      choking "more!"
      and mad "let go!"

      Blaze, blaze before me
      torn like a thief
      like a mad tailor
      another flame

      winters! I will find out
      your patly. Yours
      waving. Finally --
      hot tongs!

      You are the same as you were
      before. You are not for the future
      stripping naked
      threw off all the firewood.

      Only to you
      and peculiar thing ruining,
      equating fate
      burned - yourself!

      Biting into the gut
      soaring outside
      dressed colorful
      we are alone again!

      This is your heat, your ardor!
      Do not unlock! I AM
      your handwriting has not been forgotten
      charred edges.

      No matter how you hide the features
      but betray the essence
      for no one like you
      didn't know how to overwhelm

      run out of steam,
      dart across.
      Nazareth used passion
      truly would have risen!

      Burn, blaze, sin,
      choke yourself.
      Like a dance maenad
      with a bitten lip.

      Howl shiver shake
      plenty with a thin shoulder.
      He who is above you,
      let your smoke swallow!

      So torn, cracking, silk,
      exposing places.
      That flashed cheek,
      then the mouth will burn.

      So the corpses collapse
      so from the ruins of calves
      spin, heaven
      after traveling, a host of sparks.

      You are the same as you were.
      From fate, from housing
      after you - ash
      dull coals

      cold, dawn, snow,
      dance of frozen rods.
      And like a continuous burn -
      not holding the brain.

      1981

I. Brodsky