Yesenina-Duncan Dancing

Just like sculptures, the sculptures. Sunkissed, long-drawn motions.
She hardly smiled. But if she did, then very much so.
The beauty of the rite broke through the rhythm.

She only whirled and whirled and whirled.
Gliding so gracefully. Flaming.
Her words carried weight. But she was unable to speak.

The snake-charmer was whirling and the shawl was whirling,
the half circle was whirling and the sea-shore and the girl,
the dancer apart and the dance apart…

It’s other people’s feast:
a past that didn’t get alike.
She was dancing the fragrance to it.

(Translated by: N. Ullrich Katalin)