Firing
At night, soon as I touch my cushion,
my bed at once to Russia flees
As if I’m led to execution,
in the ravine with cherry trees
Upon awakening, in darkness,
I see my watches on a chair,
And recognise the gunpoint muzzle
In lustreless flicker of its stare
Protecting breast and neck in terror
The moment they will fire at me,
I'm hopeless in my vain endeavour
To take that stare away from me
The ticking rescues my position,
My senses spring from hypnotism:
Again I safely feel the cushion
Of my successful exorcism
But heart will not agree with conscience
And will demand it genuine:
The Russia, stars, the execution,
And cherry trees in the ravine.
1927
vip 17/10/2010
Vladimir Nabokov - Firing
© Copyright: Виктор Постников, 2010
Свидетельство о публикации №110101702971
Свидетельство о публикации №110101702971
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