Poets of the artists

Nikolai Gumilev
Fra Angelico

In a country where gippogrif gay lion
Winged calls to play in the azure,
Where are the night launches from the sleeve
Crystal nymphs and crowned furies;

In a country where quiet gróby dead,
But where alive their will power and strength,
Among the many distinguished artists,
Oh, one heart, only loved.

Let the great heavenly Rafael,
God's favorite rocks, Buonarrotti,
Da Vinci, magical tasted hops,
Cellini, who gave the secret bronze flesh.

But Rafael did not warm, and blind
In Buonarrotti terrible perfection
And hop da Vinci's heart melt in his mouth,
Tu soul that believed in bliss.

At Fézole, amid thin poplars,
When burned in a grass green poppies
And in the depths of Gothic churches,
Where martyrs sleep in the cool cancer --

All of that made my master, print
Love the earth and humble simplicity.
Oh yes, not everything he knew how to draw,
But the fact that he drew - committed.

That rocks, groves, a knight on horseback, --
Where he goes to church il to the bride?
Lights dawn on the city wall,
They come flocks through the streets of the suburbs;

Mary holds her Son,
Curly, with a noble glow,
These children on Christmas Eve,
Probably dreaming of infertile women;

And so it is not afraid of related holy
The executioner, dressed in a blue shirt,
They are well under the halo of gold,
And here is light and there - other lights.

A paint colors - bright and clean,
They were born with him and with him went black.
The Legend is: he dissolved the flowers
In the bishops consecrated oil.

And there is legend: Seraphim
Flew to him, laughing and clear,
I took the brush, and competed with
In his marvelous art ... but in vain.

There is a God, there is peace, they live for ever,
And the lives of people instantly and wretched,
But all in itself holds people
Who loves the world and believes in God.
1916

Arseny Tarkovsky
Paul Klee

Hab da was the artist Paul Klee
Somewhere beyond the mountains, above the meadows.
He sat himself alone in the alley
With colored pencils,

I drew squares and hooks,
Africa, a child on the platform,
Little devil in a blue shirt,
The stars and the beasts of the firmament.

Do not like it, so that his drawings
Honest passport nature
Where dutifully built on beck and call
People, horses, city and water.

He wanted the lines and spots,
As grasshoppers in the July jingle,
Said fused and understandable.
And one morning on cardboard

Stood out the wing and crown:
Angel of death was indicated.
Understand Klee, it is time
With Muse and acquaintances to say goodbye.

Said goodbye and died Klee.
Nothing could be sadder.
If Klee was a little meaner
The angel of death would be a natural.

And then the artist together
We would also vanished from the world,
Porastryas angel to our bones.
But tell me: What do we want it?

In the churchyard is worse than in the museum
Where sometimes loiter alive
And hang a row of paintings Klee --
Blue, yellow, Blazhnov ...
1957

***
Let me forgive Vincent Van Gogh
Because I could not help him,

For what I have grass under his feet
Do not spread out on the scorched road

Because I do not untied laces
His peasant dusty shoes,

Because in the heat did not let him drink,
Do not interrupted in the hospital to shoot himself.

I stand himself, and leaned over me
Twisted, like a flame, cypress.

Lemon crowns and dark blue --
Without them I would not I myself;

Humiliated I own speech,
When used someone else's burden dropped from his shoulders.

And this rudeness angel, with a sort
It is a smear in common with my line

Conducts and guides you through his pupil
Go where the stars breathing Van Gogh.
1958

Oleg Lekmanov "European painting eyes Mandelstam: (Article I: Italy, Russia)"
http://www.utoronto.ca/tsq/28/lekhmanov28.shtml