'Maïr

The star, Maïr, shines in the sky above me--
   The star, Maïr.
A world is lighted by this star so lovely,
   So far from home.

The land, Oilay, floats on the waves of ether--
   The land, Oilay.
The glittering light of Maïr one can see there
   Is bright as day.

In that calm land of love, the Ligoy river--
   The lithe Ligoy--
Makes the bright face of Maïr softly quiver
   As waves deploy.

The flowers that smell, the lyres that strum (amazing
   Lyres, strumming clear),
And songs of women in one breath praising--
   Praising Maïr.'

--Sologub in: Modern Russian Poetry (tr Markov
& Sparks, 1967)

The avant garde speaks: "I'm not an artist I'm a
terrorist. My bombs don't hurt bodies--they blow
up souls. So far I have had no effect. Can it be that
there are no souls left?"