What words can convey that melancholy yearning of evening in the steppe, with a solitary train travelling through it? How can I explain that extraordinarily faint song of the air passing through a straw? I tried to recall the poem ‘In the Carriage’ – I think it’s by Innokentii Annensky – which expresses these feelings more accurately than anything else:Enough of doing and of talking, Let’s drop the smiles and stop the words. The clouds are low, blank snow is falling And heaven’s light is wan and blurred. Enmeshed in strife beyond their knowing, Black willows writhe in frantic fits. I say to you, ‘Until tomorrow: For this day you and I are quits.’ Setting aside dreaming and pleading – Though I am boundlessly to blame – I wish to gaze at snow-white fields Through this white-felted windowpane. Stand tall and be a man, Assure me you have forgiven, Join the light of the setting sun, Around which everything has frozen.
