Бабочки колибри
Сонет
Небес июньских выплеснулись краски,
Атлас сирени не кровоточил
Близ молодой луны. И гул неясный
Окрест голов в ночи расправил пыл.
Как лицемер я подпевал гуденью.
Олив и роз слуга в беседке плыл,
Вибрирующий нимбом, он с волненьем
Волною хоботка бутон открыл.
Осенней ночью холод, подступая,
Крушил цветы последние в садах.
Оставить патоку густую стае
Бродячих сфинксов на дубов стволах.
Алкая свет, они кормили б всласть,
Но голод их мою питает страсть.
Надо перевести сонет на русскийMelosan@mail.ru has wryly suggested having this exquisite sonnet translated into Russian, which would be as difficult a feat as composing it must have been!In case you missed the full extent of Matt's achievement, due to the sonorous subtlety of his words, look down the lefthand margin of the sonnet and think about the Vane sisters. . .:) SESSonnet Nabokov: Hummingbird Moths
Near the end of June all the colors collapsed
At once, the lilac's purple bleeding to gray
Beneath a moist, young moon. A low buzz passed
Overhead, a streak in the dying light of day.
Keen with desire, I followed that telltale song.
Olive and pink, it hovered in the bower,
Vibrating its halo, and dipped its long tongue,
Volute and voluptuous, into a flower.
Or later, in autumn, when there came a freeze,
Killing my mother's flowers all at once,
One could sugar for moths by painting the trees
Black with molasses, slathered across their trunks.
Ablaze in the light of my lantern, they would feed,
Not knowing how their hunger fed my need.
--Susan Elizabeth Sweeney
Co-Editor, NABOKV-LAll private editorial communications are read by both co-editors.