Osip Emilevich Mandelstam Poems

Just for joy, take from my palms
A little sun, a little honey,
As Persephone's bees commanded.
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I had not tried the wine that ancients made,
And had not heard of Ossian’s old tune;
So why, on earth, I seem to see the glade,
And, in the skies ...
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As Psyche-Life goes down to the shades
In a translucent forest in Persephone's tracks,
A blind swallow falls at her feet
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On the stony spurs of Pierius
The Muses conducted the first round dance
So like bees, blind lyrists might give us Ionic honey.
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1

The meaning of somber and barren
Venetian life is clear to me:
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Why do the clock-hopperssing,
And fever rustle
And dry stove crackle --
It is red silk burning....
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A young Levite among priests,
He remained long on morning watch.
Jewish night grew thick around him,
The ruined temple was solemnly being raised.
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I dream of hunchbacked Tiflis,
Where a Sazandar's groan resounds
The people cluster on the bridge,
The crowd carpets the whole capital,
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I often shiver with cold --
I want to be mute as a thing!
There is, in the skies, dancing gold
Sending me commands to sing!
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Sisters - Heaviness and Tenderness- you look the same.
Wasps and bees both suck the heavy rose.
Man dies, and the hot sand cools again.
Carried off on a black stretcher, yesterday’s sun goes.
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