The Best of Marina Tsvetaeva (5)
George
1. Eyelashes, eyelashes…
Eyelashes, eyelashes
Bowing down.
With the shame of eyelashes
Eclipsed — suns in the arrows' crown!
How clear and how loud!
And his cloak was red
And white was his stallion.
Embarrassed is the rider,
Proud is the stallion.
On the dead serpent
The whitest stallion
Looks in half-turn.
In half-window wide
A spear behind
Into the red jaw — blowing the nostrils something wild —
With slanting fiery-eyed.
The rider's embarrassed,
The horse comes down.
The deceased serpent's
Accursed blood —
Amber — with light gait
Avoids — the amber blood flows
Froze with a raised hoof - from the heights
Of the swan turn.
Meek is the horseman,
Fastidious is the horse.
The rattling serpent
With a spear having pierced —
Since you're modest and languid!
In the winds — up high — is the heart of yours,
At the river edge — the spear of yours
Now sings at the waxen fingers
At the pink lips
Under cover of arrows
Of eyelashes,
Sings, shouts. —
O fearful heaviness
Of deeds done!
And his cloak is red
And white is his stallion.
The lovely horseman
Awake, stallion!
The tender horseman
Has a chest pain.
Threads the pearls with eyelashes...
The holy icon — is face of yours,
With sunset ray — the spear of yours
From long fingers splashes.
Does he mow down with a spear
The ray purple?
Or the red cloud
Rises like mantle?
The white house.
He will be
Let in
With the horse.
The horseman leans,
The horse stands on hind legs.
The palm around the spearman is weaker.
Now he will bring victory!
Stirs — moves — and after the spear
Into the amber puddle — after the horse
That slipped away.
The base sweep
Of arrows...
Red is the mantle, white is the horse.
2. O heaviness of success!..
O heaviness of success!
Slight of victory!
George, you cry,
Like a beautiful lady
You pale at the deed
Of your two
Suddenly alien to you
Hands.
Horse is squeamish of the serpent,
You are squeamish of the voice
Of victory. With heavy oil
The blood pours.
The dragon sleeps.
Full for all your life
You are.
The sun is eclipsed
By the lifted mantle.
Union, child's bashfulness
With the dignity of
Horse.
From the saddle —
Into the sky —
Bush.
Fastidious sorrow
Of lips.
Horse is squeamish of the serpent,
You are squeamish of the present
Of the tsar — her engagement fire.
Of the church frankincense;
Strict — harsh —
In the pitiless
Roar of
Pipes.
Trumpet! Trumpet!
It's not long left to hear.
The tender victory reed — away.
The one out-piped away
Drooped — went quiet.
And cloudy — above! —
Post.
Bow, bow,
Obedient grass!
Reddened under the slap of glory —
Pales. — Home, trumpeters! — He sleeps.
Until the judgment trumpet —
Is full.
3. Celestial glow…
Celestial glow
And blue versts!
Glory George
The Victorious!
Pearly branches
Of midnight, proclaim
The clean youth
The marvelous man:
His fiery mantle,
His spear's song
Glory the blood-boiling
Stallion.
-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --
O great masts
And each proud village!
Glory the thundering-
Boiling George!
In strength and in meekness
Like sun he'd be.
Honor of honor,
Luxury's luxury.
His towering height,
His spear's song,
Glory his lightning-tailed
Stallion!
Winds of the lion
And mass of the church!
Glory the
Magnificent George!
Having killed the serpent,
Over death having won,
Entering his lady's home
On a stallion!
His great momentum,
His spear's song,
Glory his transformed
Stallion!
-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --
Flattering willows
And leaning grass,
The freedom-loving
And full of class
Youth — glory,
Youth — bemoan...
Here is he, on the grass
That is warrior of heaven:
His pink mouth
Its two halves there are —
Couldn't bear victory
The victory-bearer.
4. The feathers from the clouds nodding away…
The feathers from the clouds nodding away...
How your arrogance to convey,
George! Creature of powers of heaven!
How to convey enslaved fervor of a pupil,
And of a sober blown-up nostril,
At the full trot the curbed confusion.
Before the beauty most filled with delight
How to convey — from the archangel heights
The saddles and the spears of deed done
And these arrows of eyelashes — virginity
Wrathful — the coat of ebony —
Piercing — we are not of one bone!
Having completed witnessing God's missive,
How to convey, George, how you were evasive —
That you have touched the ground barely —
A bow — and how the hole at once,
Piercing-crooked, filled with ice:
Oh, don't be grateful! By the orders, squarely.
5. From the archangel height of the seat…
From the archangel height of the seat
To do evangelic deeds.
River burns, dark for miles far hence.
O distance! Distance! Distance!
In piercing straightness of the lashes of the eye
With a firestorm onto the birds to fly.
The hooves! The wings! Bound up tight!
O height! Height! Height!
To open eyes like jaw! Like gear
Beyond clouds to disappear!
And not to come to wits - to fall and die:
O desire! Desire! Desire!
6. And I need no girl…
And I need no girl.
By the cold of will,
By the trace of blue
I will alone go.
Widowed and an orphan
You were till I conquered.
By the willing trace
Of rushing spring water.
I'll wash away feats
From the glory, from pus.
In your glory I'll
Give drink to the horse.
Keep, little dove,
The sprouts from hail,
The girl from the serpent,
The hero from the girl.
7. O, by every wind…
O, by every wind
Shaken lotus!
George's shyness,
George's kindness...
The childish — severe — deadly importance
Of gigantic eyes
Wide and moist.
Thus deadly torment
From the rags peers.
And the excessive
Weight of a spear
Not here — with a proud
Laugh, full of height:
George most mild,
George most quiet.
Most bitter — candle of my vigils — George,
Most mild — with eyes of a deer — George!
(The deer that's forgiven
To the trembling pack).
To whom did the day
Of George strike the clock.
O my lotus!
My swan!
Swan! My deer!
You're all my vigils of night
And all my dreams beside!
You my Easter psalm!
You my final altar!
You more than my son
And more than my tsar!
My azure eye —
In the height!
You, having raised again
Your escaped wife.
So listen!
<8>. With thorn, not with laurel…
With thorn, not with laurel
As a king crowned,
In a saddle — with wings!
Around the shape narrow
On the black velvet
Maltese gold is.
Unbreakable thorn
Needles — a vow
To friend and God.
High bending
Of a swan, on the side
A Maltese sword.
The knight of Maltese
Order — George,
Midst sleepers — aware.
The knight of Maltese
Order — George,
At women doesn't stare.
Good Tidings
1. Into the treasure chest
Into the treasure chest
Of the midnight depths
I let down
An steady hand.
Amid seaweed
There's no sight of him!
My treasure-chest
Is not in the sea!
Into the singing height
Clouds beyond —
With double thunder
I get brave — and now
A lark has dropped
From the height for me —
That you're not beyond cloud,
That you're beyond sea!
2. Alive and well!..
Alive and well!
Louder than thunder —
Like with an axe —
Joy!
No, with an axe
Not enough: with a bull
Under the butt
Of happiness!
Stunned.
Afraid.
What in exchange —
Will they tear away?
And from the knees
All the way to the roots
Of standing hair —
Terror.
So it is, alive?
Shutting one's eyes,
Breathing, they call —
Hear?
Did the ship go away?
Oh my crane
In the whole flock
Youngest!
Resurrected once died?
Cutting out sigh
A stone from the sky,
Breaking
Over the head —
No, till the hilt
Sword into chest —
Joy!
3. Not hunching under sorrow…
Not hunching under sorrow,
Under the stone — winged — as
An eagle -— having stayed whole,
The double sadness
Of earthly mothers
And heavenly mistresses
Having raised on the shoulder —
Hot Maltese steel
Was left to me!
But the wrathful sky
To the eagles — favorably.
Is this not a dream: in the waves
Multitude of horse angels!
Between them — hosanna! —
My - whiter than snow...
Lily chausibles,
Horse will carry out! —
Foaming lops on a mantle.
Wave will carry out! —
Block standing up...
God will carry out...
- Oh!
4. Over the sleeping youth — golden spurs…
Over the sleeping youth — golden spurs.
Command: Up high!
Back at the heels the crowd of robbers.
George, cry!
With a free left hand you're feeling the cross.
Command: swim!
Rule, that to the last one they come under
The cupola Sofian!
We're lost! The joints will not bear!
The end! — Give up!
With double lightning it opens the wings.
Command: up!
5. In the name of massacre…
In the name of massacre
Hold tight, my one with wings!
There was an hour of crossing
And will be — of getting even.
In that ton-and-half hour
Between fact and dream
Heavily paddled
The ship's wings.
Between Charybdis — yes! —
And Scylla paddled away.
Oh my wings,
The ships-cranes!
Then on the steep
Shore of Euxene
Stomped those who escaped,
Will — those who win.
In that hour exhausting
Between mud and muzzle
The wings did not weaken,
The hearts did not chill,
The shoulders were pressing,
In guard eyes remained.
O these wings of mine,
The ships-cranes!
Not given to offend
Narrow-faced little birds,
It was said— a she-eagle's
Heart of Taurides.
With many a letter
Onto cry long-beaked
The gray-haired Monarchian
Mom did awake.
And here's the Sofian
Cupola - far away...
O these my wings,
The ships-cranes!
Bear! Dark constellation
Will shiver up high.
The vengeance will come
Not from sea, from the sky.
Look: having been poured
With lead of heaven,
The flock of ships
Is menacing, heavy.
And there is no end to it,
There is no land...
O these my wings,
The ships-cranes!
Return of Rain
Horse — lame.
Sword — rusty.
Who — now?
Leader of crowds.
Step — hour,
Sigh — century,
Look — down.
All — there.
Foe. — Friend.
Thorn. — Laurel.
All — dream...
He. — Horse.
Horse — lame.
Sword — rusty.
Cloak — old.
Stature — straight.
Into the ether…
x x x
Into the ether
Leads the path.
Stop, now!
Blind is youth.
Higher, all higher!
Into blue rye!
Stop, now!
You'll step in the sky.
To Mayakovsky
Above crosses and pipes,
Baptized in fire and smoke,
The heavy-footed archangel —
Eternal Vladimir, hello!
He's the rider and he's the horse,
He's the right and he's the whim.
He sighed, and spat into the palms:
Hold tight, the dray fame!
The singer of plaza wonders —
Hello, one grimy and proud,
That he chose the heavy stone
And was not swayed by the diamond.
Hello, the thunder of stones!
He yawned, saluted — and again
He paddles with shaft — the wing
Of the archangel dray.
From cycle "Khan's Horde"
1. The Khan's pollen…
The Khan's pollen
Having fully tried
I beat with the wing
To escape-god.
Profitable god
Fast god
Spurs in the side - god!
To inform
With word and sign,
Lay them to sleep
With poppy and vine,
Darkness and home be,
Word and sign be,
Stump and ditch be —
That all winds in the chest beat!
A black god,
Raven-god,
Midnight-beats-god.
With a comb-slant,
With a stone-grass
Over the slanting —
Yuck — Tatars!
My horse the ground don't touch,
My foreheads the stars don't touch,
My breath my lips don't touch,
Rider-horse, finger-palm.
A horse god,
Sleepy god,
Crowbar in forehead — god!
To the fast legs —
Strength and bravery!
That would be sung
In villages for centuries:
Of escaped and barefoot — god,
Of bare-headed — god,
Flight, splash, whip, whipped — god,
Devil on the oars — god.
Cry — god,
Whip — god,
Headlong — god!
2. There is no trivet…
There is no trivet
And no fire.
Take me, take me!
With the Tatars
He will from me
Eat the horse bone.
Accompany,
The milestone!
"Where, quickness,
Is cross-your-chain?"
"Under khan's boots
Is cross-my-chain.
My town's in blood,
Chest without cross —
Adopt me,
Mother-versts!"
"Where, orphan,
Is your load-home?"
"Hearth — under ribs,
Under saddle — home,
My khan - Mamai,
My bread is angst.
To old one in heaven,
Church's porch-versts!"
"Why are you, beauty,
Strict to the khan?"
"Strict to the khan?
Memory's long.
My khan — like stone,
Moscow — like hole.
To angel's camp,
Versts-tablecloth!"
3. Your trace is untrammelled…
Your trace is untrammeled,
A crown is your tuft.
The burst and the crier
Screech under the hoof.
An incompetent fire,
An untravelled path, there. —
An unshod horse
Oh Russia-mother!
Your cotton's not selling,
Your goon has no arms.
A hook's in your mansion
And a trough with no charm.
I'll eat lots of bark —
Not a marvel it was!
Oh Russia-mother,
Spellbound horse!
Don't jump up — don't sit!
And once sat — do not blame!
But one horseman, Mamai,
For your taste is game!
A slanting vileness,
A thief's palm...
The unconfessed stallion,
Russia-mom!
Praise to Aphrodite
1. Blessed are the ones that left your daughters, Earth…
Blessed are the ones that left your daughters, Earth,
To fight in wartime battle and to run,
Blessed are the ones that having never tried
Comfort went to the fields Elysian.
Thus grows the laurel — writer of the years,
Heater of battle, sober, with harsh leaves.
I will never exchange for bitter fate of love
The friendship's over-the-clouds cliffs.
2. Already gods' — not the same generosity…
Already gods' — not the same generosity,
Upon the shore of river's shore, not the same one.
Fly, fly again, the doves of Aphrodite
Into wide open gates of setting sun.
I'll leave in day, in which there is no count,
Lying upon the sand that's growing cold...
I've outgrown my youth and look upon it
Like snake that's looking at his skin of old.
3. In vain, inside the promised branches hiding…
In vain, inside the promised branches hiding,
Your tender retinue thunders above.
I drop a myrtle that did love so many,
I drop the belt that did so sweetness love.
With a dumb arrow that is heavily piercing
Freed me from these my shackles your own son.
Thus at the very throne of my calmness
You born of foam, as a foam be gone!
4. How many, how many of them, white and blue…
How many, how many of them, white and blue
Eat from the hands!
Whole kingdoms are clucking around your lips
O Lowliness!
In gold of cup the deadly sweat
Does not translate.
The mantle-wearing general will vanish
Like dove of white.
Every cloud like a chest circles
In a bad hour.
There is your visage, O she-devil, in
Each perfect flower.
You fleeting foam, the salt of the sea..
In torment and foam —
For what reason should I obey
You, armless stone?
Youth
1. This my youth! O this my alien youth!..
This my youth! O this my alien youth!
This my alien youth, my boot unpaired!
Purposefully narrowing the inflamed eyes,
Thus a leaf from calendar they tear.
From among your very acquisitions
Nothing took away the thoughtful Muse.
You were both a burden and encumbrance
To me. I don't ask you back, my youth.
You whetted the arrows in the nighttime,
You whispered within the night with comb.
I have suffered for the sins of others
Pressed down with your generosity, like stone.
Your scepter before its time returning —
Of what use is evidence to the soul!
O my youth! My tired youth you are!
You my tattered rag that once was whole!
2. Soon from swallows — into sorcerers!..
Soon from swallows — into sorcerers!
Youth! We will say farewell before then...
We will stand in the wind soul to soul!
My tan one! My sister console!
With a skirt of raspberry flare,
You my youth! My dove you are
Tan! Waste of my soul!
You my youth! Dance and console!
Wash me with a shawl of azure,
My insane one! We have played with you
For a plenty! Dance a while and spar!
My gold — farewell — amber!
For a reason your arms touch I,
Like to a lover I say goodbye.
Torn away from depths within my breast —
My youth! Go to someone else!
Muse
No awards, no forefathers,
Not a falcon clear.
She goes and is torn away —
She is so far!
Underneath tan eyelids
A golden-winged flame.
Forgotten once she took it
With a windswept arm.
An un-picked-up skirt,
A rag that went bare.
I'm not kind, not mean
But like this: so far.
Does not fuss or cry:
Tore - and therefore dear!
You gave - and forgotten
With a windswept arm.
With a scream and with a throat's
Scattering, forgot...
So distant as she is
Come and keep her, God!
Without self-control…
x x x
Without self-control
With complete meekness.
Light and soft is
Air over abyss.
Growing at once,
Like lightning — in time,
As if by an order
There will be a blossom.
Answering stars,
With a snake hair...
Himself defenseless —
Not a flame-bearer!
He to me? I to him?
I'll try, I know.
Without intent
Into death I will go.
Thus swam the head and lyre down…
x x x
Thus swam the head and lyre down
To the receding far-off place.
And lips repeated: pity, pity,
And "world" the lyre did convince.
Bloody-silver, silver-and-bloody
And double trace she did then pour,
My tender brother, my dear sister
Along the paralyzed Gebr.
At times, the movement of head slowed
Inside the unabated angst.
But lyre assured: do pass me near!
And lips behind her said, "Alas!"
Moving together like a garland
With far-off rippling head of bed —
Do not the hair pour with silver?
Does not the lyre pour with blood?
Thus, with a staircase descending
Of river — into crib of swells.
Thus, to new island, where it's sweeter
Than somewhere — lies a nightingale...
Where then are they, the holy remnants?
The salty wave — respond, respond!
Maybe the net has pulled it out,
Net of bare-headed Lesbian?
Not for flattering chausibles, frocks of lies…
x x x
Not for flattering chausibles, frocks of lies —
I was born in this world with loud voice!
Wide awake — not the night dreams of mine!
I don't live, like you, with whisper-spine!
From you of me, whisper-that-thorn —
Lyre, lyre, a curve of a swan!
With laurel, with dawn, with winds one
I make merry and am not a nun!
And the boy — is not dumb, is fair-haired!
And it's gone to the side overboard —
From you of me, whisper-that-thorn —
Lyre, lyre, a curve of a swan!
Heavy, I do hear, is woman's role!
I don't know — did not put on the scale!
My product is a gift, not for sale,
But with blueness will go this my nail —
From you of me, screaming-wheezing-one —
Lyre, lyre, a curve of a swan!
Woman's chest! The soul's frozen breath…
x x x
Woman's chest! The soul's frozen breath —
Woman's reason! Wave, that by surprise
Was caught — and always by surprise
Having caught up to you — and God sees!
Of the despising and despised playpen
Has quieted. — Woman's chest! — Yielding was
An armament! — I am thinking of those...
Of those one-breasted ones — those girlfriends!
From Cycle "Girlfriend II"
To never-quiet Ave,
To Easter feast —
A beautiful glory
Of girlfriend last.
1. Sleeps, merriment, your torment…
Sleeps, merriment, your torment,
Sleeps suffered heart's torment so.
Over the Iverian cradle
Blissful! Allow to go slow.
Not my fussiness, not envy
Brought me home - do not forbid!
I came like shepherds in the village
To give the glory to your kid.
O silver-fake gold-mica!
Not seen by the same star!
Like dug in over the house,
Like dug in - look - the star!
I am not joyous and do not envy
A saw to my heart, as I see
What is it to your son I am giving?
Here is my cloak - my staff is here.
2. Like in a precious chausible…
Like in a precious chausible
In infant tears,
You're blessed in your wives!
You're blessed, dear!
Near to the roadside cross
Your eyes you open.
(He was an orphan just as well -
Fatherless son).
Like in a precious chausible
In infant tears,
You're blessed in your tears!
You're blessed, dear.
Clear, unconcerned over the sleeping
Bird is your forehead.
The good news' bearer was your crown,
Bearer - your bed.
Shiver and tree your stature is
Over the sleeping bird.
The good news' bearer was his dad -
Be joyful, girl!
Like in a precious chausible,
In heaven's snow
Blessed in snow you have been!
You're blessed so.
3. A giant stroke of a wing…
A giant stroke of a wing,
Breath whips — in wives
You are blessed,
In wives, alive.
Where's messenger? It's wild and white.
A crown? A wing?
Where's messenger? By snowstorm blown —
Message and wing.
4. With what to deserve you and give back your due…
With what to deserve you and give back your due —
Blessed forever! Babe's mother you!
Over the dragnet growing with glass
Again repeating: Light from the east!
From his blue eyes to stars of blue
Having thrown a bridge with the rainbow, you!
-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --
I don't fall! I don't fall! I swim far
And — as a rainbow - bridge over Nieva.
Life-giver in hour of the end!
Affirmer of kingdoms! Mother of son!
In wheeze of torments — in a bad song!
You — "Be" — as a child have thrown!
Bethlehem
Two poems that accidentally did not go into "Poems to Blok"
1. Not with silver I came…
Not with silver I came,
Not with amber I came,
Not as a king I came,
As a shepherd I came.
Here's air of hills of mine,
Here's of two eyes of mine
Sharp gaze - and of fires
Red glare and of dawns of mine.
Where's wax - that is the fur?
Through hole I won't turn!
Poorer than all -
But ahead of all!
Behind a camel a camel
See: on that round hill,
See: walking are the kings,
See: they are bearing bins.
O — after — far!
2. Three kings…
Three kings,
Three bins
With precious gifts.
The first bin —
All the earth
With indigo seas.
Second bin:
Noah within
With an ark with beasts.
And within?
That third bin?
What is there, my king?
Gives the king,
"Holy's my light"
Don't know what it means
Ahead — king,
Mom — behind,
And the infant weeps.
How comes into the middle…
x x x
S. E.
How comes into the middle
In battles of the Don —
Thus my dream is with you
In cities over the ocean.
For the paper dust they'll take
Bookcase from the wall.
All's for sale, and nonetheless
Memory's not for sale.
In a green wood full of firs
There's no such straight pine.
You and me, that is because,
From one cradle come.
Not for thousand fates — we're born
For one, you and me.
Nearer than bread to the palm —
Thus do we agree.
Fire and flood did not bear off
Finger of gold made!
In those sleepless hours we are
Nearer than to forehead, hand.
My widowhood will not accept
Neither miller, nor flour.
An inviolable bond:
In one crib we were.
In my chest my watch, once wound,
Did not rust, you know.
There's autocracy within
The red Russia, know.
May the whole world come to end —
At night service I will stand.
Thus with you before the wall —
As to others with a garland.
And now, keen before me, you!
Brothers, do not yawn!
Thus together we come at night:
Our crib was one.
She is unusual all the way! Beyond power!..
x x x
She is unusual all the way! Beyond power!
He forgot! Do not accuse me so far!
You're blessed by God! To say he did will —
You're blessed by God! And beyond, so level
A satin stitch... Stand: wives between
You're blessed by God... And beyond ringing
So jubilant... little child, hear:
You're blessed by God! — And silence out far
Stretches...
To Akhmatova
Your stripe will be harvested
By which person's arms?
O the black magician you!
My black-plaited one!
Your tumultuous century,
And your midnight days...
All your little workers are
At once born away.
Where are your campaigner friends,
Your comrades in arms?
O the black magician you,
My one with white arms!
Not with glory, not with tears
Can one heal those graves.
One, as though he had been choked,
Walked around alive.
One more went into a wall
Himself to advance.
(He was proud — a falcon!) — They
Knocked him out at once.
High above your brothers are!
Can't exude a cry!
O the black magician you,
My one with clear eyes!
And from out the cloud (praise
Marvel from above!)
Arrow of a falcon falls,
Arrow of a dove...
To know, in two feathers at once
People to you write,
Know, that soon you will receive
A certificate,
O the boulders! They will shake
With their wings,
O the black magician you!
My one with black wings!
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© Ilya Shambat, Translation. Can be reproduced if non-commercial.
