He marks the wonder woven through
...not half a breath but still withdraws...
Her eyes confiding, wide, and blue
...and he with half a step to cross...
I will now present a poem by Ostap Slyvynsky from the anthology. It is called "Limbo" (and here is a Swedish translation of this poem) (UPD: I found recently a Russian translation of this poem as well: here):
The nocturnal hills were as crumpled bedsheets
In which birds had nested. Remember:
One can trust only chance discoveries,
I found the remnants of someone's coat
That had become hooked on an oar. The heap
Resembles only second-hand clothing and
Concentration camps, and here? A massive laundering
Arranged for us by the nightlong fog?
As though a hotel had been opened above the sleek
Smoothness of the lake -
Glowing lanterns illuminate the water through-and-through
A fire ladder leads down to the floor-bed sands below
One could spend the night airborne, if only the earth and
Its putrefying cemetery wouldn't persist in dreams!
With the whole bundle of insulted
Coats, abandoned shoes and deserted hats!
One must be cautious, so as not to slip on a dead shirt,
For example. - It's enough not to close the window to
Keep away moths that transport the virus of a different light.
The act of one of the dreams took place in a wardrobe
Which gives birth to the rival universe.
Translated by Lyuba Gawur