Иосиф Латман - СТИХИ Избранные. POEMS Selected

Осталось всё как будто неизменным…
Но почему с грустинкою глаза
Вдруг стали атрибутом непременным? —
Погасла в них весенняя гроза?
Март 1998г.

All the same clouds overhead, like fate’ white sails
The same endless sky above us,
I still admire: and the grass,
And as well I admire meltwater on sunny days.

Everything remains as if unchanged perceptibly…
But why the eyes with easy sadness
Have become the attribute indispensable? —
Did the spring storm in them go out sudden?
01.01.2021

Lonely flower behind shroud of autumn rain —
Beyond the foggy window as a candle flame.
A barely audible bell… In dark, following him,
I will slip into the enchanted house, grim,

There fireplace has already gone out
Only one lone candle burns in half-dark now,
But whose flame steadfastly dies.
And its outline fabulously is flickering on the walls.
Silence cuts hearing, and my daydreams are numb all,
And involuntarily in soul fear arises.

Of the reckless love to lose mirages
I afraid, having breached the chain, that binds us —
Far fields and, driven by wind, waves golden rye,
And at dusk – bare steppe to edge glow Sky’s.

Lonely flower behind shroud of autumn rain —
Beyond the foggy window as a candle flame.
Has passed years… – You remained with me,
Like a wonderful but not fulfilled dream.
01.04.2021

Незабудки мои, незабудки,
Голубые в траве огоньки,
Закадычные леса подружки,
Словно красок живые мазки.

Кто сорвал вас и смял, незабудки,
Чьи ветра унесли лепестки,
Кто такую сыграл злую шутку,
Что доныне льют ливни горьки?

А теперь осень шутит со мною:
Горизонт затянула тоска,
Дождь повис за окном пеленою…
Как полынь эта осень горька.
Апрель 2005г.

My forget-me-nots, beloved you mine,
In the green humid grass like blue lights,
Old woods′ dear gentle girlfriends,
Like living brush strokes of wonderful paints.

Who picked and crumpled you, forget-me-nots!
Which winds carried away the petals,
Who has played such the cruel jokes,
And hitherto go down the bitter rains?

And now autumn is joking with me:
Melancholy… The horizon can’t see. A mist
Is hanging outside windows like a dense pall…
This Autumn is more bitter than wormwood in rain cold.
12.01.2021—10.05.2021

Помолчав немного, милый мой,
Вдруг услышим: как шумят дубравы,
Листья шелестят над головой,
Шепчутся со сна тихонько травы…

И, уверен, тайные тревоги