Pavel Barakhvostov
In the place of authentic art
I am watching a wondrous scene,
Where Paris strains its Montmartre
And the lazy, capricious Seine.
In a small antiquarian store
I’ve discovered a gorgeous dame
On the canvas that has been borne
Through the ages of roaring flame.
These sincere and lively eyes,
Brittle shoulders and graceful chin…
I would pay any crazy price
For the riddles you hide within!
Years, months, weeks and busy days
Don’t disturb you. You’re full at rest.
Life is over. So is the chase
For the future, your failed quest.
Consolation. Eternal joy.
You deserve it. No love. No pain.
Only I, an ambitious boy,
Try to solve your enigma in vain.
Were you evil? Or were you saint?
La Princesse? Or a filthy tart?
You have saved in the oil-paint
Your enormous, mysterious heart.
Fate’s disgusting and wicked joke
Was to let you be dying in cold.
I am taking you to New York
