The Best of Marina Tsvetaeva (2)
To Alla
1. You will be innocent, gorgeous…
You will be innocent, gorgeous,
Refined — and to all alien.
A striving, aspiring mistress,
An enticing Amazon.
Your braids of hair, most likely,
To wear like a helmet you'll choose,
You will be the queen of the ballroom —
Of all the poems of our youth.
And your vicious blade of humor
Will pierce through many, queen,
And you will have at your feet
All of which I can but dream.
All will be obedient to you,
And all before you will be quiet.
Like me, you will indisputably
And better poems write.
But will you press tight and deadly
Those temples of yours — who knows —
Just like your young mother
Is pressing her temples now.
5 June 1914
2. Yes, I am jealous of you…
Yes, I am jealous of you
With such a jealousy!
Yes, I also disturb you
With my angst already.
And this my miserable nature
In you is most awfully clear:
In your without two months two years —
You're in despair.
All dolls in whole wide world, all horses
You'll give without a second thought
For one page from my notebook
And pencil I bought.
You're in a fight with maids — you want
All things by yourself done.
Then suddenly you're in despair:
"The sea's gone home."
However proudly I speak of you,
I can't transmit you all about
When you are asking me, "Mother,
Please kiss my snout."
You know, all in me is laughing
When somebody once again
Attempts to kiss you
In vain.
I am the snake that took the princess,
A dragon! Groom of grooms! O light
Of my eyes — O the jealousy
Of my night!
6 June 1914
From Cycle "P. E."
1. Clad in the golden dust of evening…
Clad in the golden dust of evening
An August day did quietly melt.
The ringing streetcars rushed onwards
And people went.
I went along a quiet side street
Without aim, absent-mindedly.
And I remember how the church bells
Sang quietly.
I decided all things on the way
Imagining your pose:
Am I, or am I not, to bring
To you a rose?
And I was readying a phrase,
Forgotten afterward, Alas —
And suddenly — no wait! — at once!
That self-same house.
With many stories, looking bored...
I count the windows, here's the porch.
Unwittingly, cross on the neck
The hands do search.
I count the gray steps, that are leading
Me to the flame.
I ring the bell. Here for thinking.
There is no time.
I but remember roar of thunder
And my two hands, as cold as ice.
I call for you. — He is at home,
He'll come at once.
-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --
May with my youth the years bear out
What's unforgotten, one and all.
The paint upon the colored wallpaper
I will recall.
And glass-beads of the lampshade, and
The sound of some strange voices and
Port Arthur and the dull clock beating
Overhead.
The moment, long, in the least measure -
Like hour. But steps from afar.
And you have entered. Here's the squeaking
Of open door.
-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --
And there at once was fascination.
He leaned down, simple like a king.
And two stars in awe and terror
Were glimmering.
And squinting them, so huge, you did not
Know of the tender face so dear,
Still one more moment — what a tempest
Played here.
I struggled like a hero. Even
You and I once together dined!
A muted voice I do remember
And lips' outline.
And hair, fluffier than down,
And — the most dear! —
The gorgeous wrinkles of laughter
Your long eyes near.
And I recall — you sat right there,
I, here — but you do forget.
What effort all this cost to me,
What minutes yet —
To sit, giving off reams of smoke,
And to observe silence complete ...
It was intolerable to me
Like this to sit.
You do recall this conversation
Of weather and of letter "e."
Behold, you know, for such a strange dinner
There cannot be.
In a half-turn, in a half-darkness
I laugh, not waiting for myself:
"Eyes of a thoroughbred dog,
Count, Farewell."
-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --
Lost and without aim completely
I walked an alley dark as well
And, seemingly, there was no singing
Of the bell.
2. When he did live everyone loved him…
When he did live everyone loved him
Eternal loyalty did vow,
Carry the wreaths out of the lilies
Onto fresh snow.
Over his miserable lodgings
For a brief minute go slow
That he would not for too long shiver
On this first snow.
Warm, melt the icy blood inside him
With breath of body and of soul!
But if at once the love inside is
Already cold —
To lover — love the brother even,
The child on forehead wears a wreath —
He can hug no one in the coffin
After his death.
Ah, he, whom you so loved, for whose sake
You would have gone into hell's vault —
That he is now in a coffin
Is not his fault!
From rustling of steps and of dress
Trembling from head down to your feet —
How he'd discover your embraces,
Whene'er could he!
O women! For each one among you
He became ash and madness all!
With what thirst, fully, did he love you,
You must recall!
Recall, how you caught
From his eyes each look,
Recall the former vows you've spoken
In the night's dark.
Thus you will not become disloyal
Before his cross so nondescript,
And each should quietly remember
His lip.
And before rushing onwards
In sled with gypsy bell, go slow,
And with your faces fall down
Into night snow.
Let it your cheeks tenderly sprinkle,
And melt in droplets near your eyes..
I am among you one as I am
Writing these lines —
I won't break vows I have not taken —
Life — your brown eyes —
And for the soul of Love herself,
O women, pray!
3. The leaves are scattered above your tombstone…
The leaves are scattered above your tombstone
And winter's smell.
Listen, the dead one, listen, O dear one:
You're my own still.
You laugh! — Moon is high — in the roadside cabin
Full of charm.
My — so undoubted and unchanging —
Like this arm.
To hospital doors with a knot in the morning
I'll come again.
You simply have gone to the great wide seas,
To sunny land.
I kissed you! I charmed you! I laugh at this darkness
Beyond the tomb!
I disbelieve death! I wait at the terminal —
Come home.
May leaves all be scattered, erased and washed out
On mourning ribbon the words.
And, I am also dead, if you're dead
For the whole world.
I see and I feel — I sense you everywhere —
What's ribbon from wreaths of yours —
I did not forget you and will not forget you
Forevermore.
I know the aimlessness of such a promise
Its pointlessness too.
Letter to endlessness — letter to limitlessness —
Letter into the blue.
4. Here's your roses — pull your hands toward them…
Here's your roses — pull your hands toward them —
Having gone farther than the sea, dear friend!
My dear friend, having with you born out
The most precious treasures of the land.
I am robbed and deceived — There's no letter,
No ring in my memory!
How the features are memorable to me
Of your face, wondering for centuries.
How memorable is the asking, attentive
Stare — inviting to sit near —
And the worldy flattery of the dying
And the smile from the great Afar —
My dear friend, gone to sailing eternally —
A fresh hillock among other mounds!
Pray that there will not be other sailors
Ensconced in your heavenly sound.
From Cycle "Girlfriend"
1. You're happy? You won't say! Barely!
You're happy? You won't say! Barely!
Better let go!
You kissed too many, I do think,
Therefrom, sorrow.
All heroines of Shakespeare's tragedies
In you I see.
Nobody saved you, you the young
Tragic lady.
You are so tired of repeating
Love's charm!
Eloquent, the pig iron bracelet
On bloodless arm.
I love you. — Like a thundercloud
Above you — sin —
Because you're best of all and caustic
And sting,
Because in darkness of the roads differ
Our lives and we,
For your inspired enticement and
Dark destiny,
Because to you, my round-headed demon,
"Forgive" I'll say,
Because you — tear apart above the coffin! —
Cannot be saved!
For this trembling, because — is it not so —
I have a dream? —
For the ironic beauty of this,
That you — aren't he.
2. Under caresses of an ivy…
Under caresses of an ivy
Plaid I recalled yesterday's dream.
Whose victory? Who's been defeated?
What has it been?
Rethinking everything once more,
Torturing myself once again.
In this, for which no word I know,
Had love ever been?
Who was the hunter? Who — the hunted?
All is reversed as if by Satan!
What did the loudly purring Siberian
Cat, understand?
In this self-willing one another
Who in whose hand was but a ball?
Whose heart flew — yours or mine,
Do you recall?
And still again - what has it been too?
What do I want, what do I pity?
And I don't know: Did I win? Did somebody
Conquer me?
3. Today was melting, and today…
Today was melting, and today
Before the window I did stand.
A sober look, a freer chest,
I'm satisfied just once again.
I don't know why. Perhaps the soul
Has simply grown tired withal,
And somehow the rebellious pencil
I do not wish to touch at all.
Distant to good and evil both,
Inside the fog I stood, and thus,
Was lightly drumming with my finger
Upon the barely sounding glass.
It is indifferent to the soul
Than this one you first met — say I —
Than mother-of-the-pearl mud puddles
Where in full pleasure splashed the sky,
Than bird that overhead is flying
And dog that's simply running by
And even the impoverished singer
Did not begin to make me cry.
The dear art of oblivion
The soul has mastered all the way.
Some overwhelmingly big feeling
Melted within my soul today.
4. You were too lazy to get dressed…
You were too lazy to get dressed,
Too lazy to get up for me.
And every following day for you
Would have been happy with my glee.
To come so late on a cold night
Embarrassed you especially.
And every following hour for you
Would have been young with this my glee.
I was the youth that passed you by —
You did this without ill intent,
Your actions were in every way
Incorrigible, innocent.
5. Today, around eight, dashing through…
Today, around eight, dashing through
Big Lubanka straight ahead,
Like bullet, like snowball,
Somewhere rushed the sled.
Already the laughter rang...
I froze as I peered:
Red down of the hair
And somebody tall was near!
We were with another, and opened
Another sled route entire,
With wished-for and dear to me —
More strongly, than I — desired.
"O, je n'en puis plus, j'etouffe!" —
You screamed in full voice of yours,
And boldly went tucking in
The hollow of fur on her.
World is happy, and evening is bold!
From the muff purchases fly...
Thus you rushed in a snowstorm,
Coat to coat, eye to eye.
And cruelest mutiny happened,
And white snow did pour.
I followed you with my eyes
For two seconds — and no more.
And caressed the longish nap
Upon his coat - without wrath.
O Snow Queen! Your little Kai
Is frozen to death.
6. Just like a young plant sprout…
Just like a young plant sprout
The neck is high and free.
Who'll tell the name, who — years,
Who — place, who — century?
The curve of not bright lips
Is capricious and wan,
But blinding is the terraced
Forehead of Beethoven.
Clean to endearment
Is the molten oval.
A hand, in which a whip would do,
And — in the silver — opal.
Hand, meriting a fiddlestick,
Gone into precious silk,
A beautiful hand also,
A hand that is unique.
7. You on your road pass me by…
You on your road pass me by,
And your hand do not touch I.
But my angst is eternal yet,
That you be the first I met.
Heart said "Dear!" at once
I forgave you all by chance,
Knowing nothing — not even the name!
Love me, love me, I proclaim.
From the curve of your lips with one glance
I see their forced arrogance,
By above brows jutting out:
This heart storms, no doubt.
With a black silk armor — dress,
Voice with gypsy hoarseness,
Until pain I like all things in thee,
Even that you are not a beauty.
Beauty, in summer won't wilt!
Not a flower — you're a stalk made of steel,
Meaner than mean, sharper than sharp, dear,
From what island born away here?
With a rod you do wonders, with a fan —
In each bone and in each vein,
In the form of each finger full of rage -
Woman's tenderness, boy's courage.
Parrying all ridicules with verse
I open for you and the Universe
All that's ready in you then
Stranger with forehead of Beethoven!
8. Under sun the eyes are burning…
Under sun the eyes are burning,
Day's not equal day.
I tell you for that occasion
If I would betray:
Whose lips I had not been kissing
In the hour of love,
To whom I upon black midnight
Did not scarily vow —
To live, like a flower blooms, like
Mother tells a child,
Never with an eye to go
To any side..
See that cross made of cypress?
It's familiar to you.
All will wake — you only whistle
Under my window.
9. I'll repeat in hour of parting…
I'll repeat in hour of parting
When love comes to end
That I loved, yes that I loved these
Your masterful hands
And the eyes — somebody isn't
Gifted with a glance! —
Those that answer are demanding
For a look by chance.
You with your thrice-cursed passion —
God sees all, say I!
And demanding a payment for
An accidental sigh.
And I tiredly say, to listen
Hurry not at all!
Why is it that your own soul
Stands across my soul.
And again I'll also tell you:
All the same — start this! —
Far too young was this my mouth
For your gentle kiss.
Glance is luminous and daring,
Heart — like five year old...
Happy's he who did not meet you
On your road.
10. Before a mirror, where there's fog…
Before a mirror, where there's fog
And turbid sleep, your way
I want to try — where it will lead
And where there is the quay.
I see: the mast upon a ship,
And you — on deck, standing...
You — in the smoke of train... the fields
In lament of evening
The ravens flying overhead,
The evening fields in dew...
In all the four directions I
Am truly blessing you.
11. The clock — what time it is?..
The clock — what time it is?
Rang out.
Hollows of giant eyes,
Watered satin of the dress..
I just about see you, I guess,
Just about.
The neighboring porch
Has turned off the light.
Somewhere they love too much..
Your face's sketch
Is a scary sight.
It's semi-dark in the room,
One is the night.
Pierced by the light of the moon
Window deepened —
Like ice sheet.
"You give up" — the voice burst.
"I didn't fight by choice."
Voice from the moon catches frost.
Voice — like from hundred verst
This same voice!
Between us stood ray of moon,
Moving the world everywhere.
Intolerably shone
Metal red-brown
Of crazy hair.
Run of the moon forgot
History's run.
Mirror breaks moon apart.
Knocking of hooves far apart,
Screeching of a cart.
Light on the street burned down,
Running fades.
A cock will sing soon
Parting for two young
Ladies.
Insanity — and good reason…
x x x
Insanity — and good reason,
Disgrace — and honor,
All, that brings on thoughtfulness,
Is spilling over —
In me. — All the penal passions
Become as one! —
All images wage war inside
This hair of mine!
The lover's whisper, all around
By rote I know,
Experience of twenty two years
Nothing but sorrow!
But — won't you say — innocently pink
Look I,
I'm virtuoso's virtuoso
In art of lies.
In her let out like a ball,
Caught once again,
The blood of Polish great-grandmoms
Is evident.
I lie because in cemeteries
The grass does grow,
I lie because in cemeteries
Snowstorm does blow...
From violin — from automobile —
From silk, from fire...
From torment that not only me
They all desired!
From pain, that I am not the bride
Of the groom...
From poem and gesture — for the gesture
And for the poem!
From tender boa on the neck...
And how can I
Not lie — when my voice sounds more tender
When I do lie...
I like it that you're burning not for me…
x x x
I like it that you're burning not for me,
I like it that it's not for you I'm burning
And that the heavy sphere of Planet Earth
Will underneath our feet no more be turning
I like it that I can be unabashed
And humorous and not to play with words
And not to redden with a smothering wave
When with my sleeves I'm lightly touching yours.
I like it, that before my very eyes
You calmly hug another; it is well
That for me also kissing someone else
You will not threaten me with flames of hell.
That this my tender name, not day nor night,
You will recall again, my tender love;
That never in the silence of the church
They will sing "halleluiah" us above.
With this my heart and this my hand I thank
You that — although you don't know it —
You love me thus; and for my peaceful nights
And for rare meetings in the hour of sunset,
That we aren't walking underneath the moon,
That sun is not above our heads this morning,
That you — alas — are burning not for me
And that — alas — it's not for you I'm burning.
My ancestor was a rider…
x x x
My ancestor was a rider,
A thief, man with violin.
Is this not why my taste wanders
And hair smells of wind?
Does not he steal from a car,
Tan, apricots with my hand,
The author of my passionate fate,
Hook-nosed and curly-haired.
Twirling between teeth a wild rose
He wondered at tiller with plough..
He was a bad comrade — and wild
And tender he was at love!
Moon, beads, pipe and neighboring girls —
All of them — he loved.
I also think that my yellow-eyed
Ancestor was a coward.
That, having sold soul to Devil for a pence
At midnight he did not go
By cemetery; that he carried a knife
Behind a boot-leg, so.
That many a time from a corner he jumped
Like a cat, agile and thin..
And somehow I understood that he did
Not play on a violin.
And somehow all was not fitting to him,
Like in the summer — last year's snow.
Such a violinist my ancestor was.
I became such a poet — so.
Sleep the rattles and dogs of neighbours…
x x x
Sleep the rattles and dogs of neighbours —
Not one voice, not one car.
O lover, do not investigate
Why I am parting the bar.
New moon to a midnight is going:
Hour of monks — and of sharp-eyed birds,
Hour of youths and conspirators,
Hour of lovers and murderers.
Here each person's thought is double,
Here, rider, hurry the horse.
We will pass, not jingling with bracelets
And not tinkling with a purse.
Now the houses part with houses,
On the square there is talk and dance..
Here, before a small Mother of God,
Cordoba did its love pronounce.
Here, upon a stone porch,
By the fountain we'll sit silently,
Where you first for my face were aiming
With wolf's eyes.
Rustling of silk around the knees,
Smell of rose and a lock of hair..
O, beloved one — see, she's here —
Carmen the poisoner!
There is no day's temptation…
x x x
There is no day's temptation
In a folio in which people die.
To woman — all of the planet,
To woman — Ars Amandi.
Heart — of a lovers' potion
Heart — is more loyal than all.
Somebody's mortal sin is
Woman from the cradle.
Ah, so far to the heaven!
Lips - in the dark are near..
God, do not judge! On the planet
A woman you never were.
The gypsy passion of parting!..
x x x
The gypsy passion of parting!
You meet it — and you take flight!
I dropped the arms and the forehead
And think staring into the night:
No one, digging in our letters,
Understood in all depth
How we're sacrilegious — that is
How we in each other have faith.
Poems about Moscow
1. Clouds — all around…
Clouds — all around,
Cupolas — around,
Over all Moscow
Many arms are wound! —
I am lifting you, my best burden you
Oh my little tree
Flying weightlessly!
In this wonder-town,
In this peaceful town,
Where if I were dead
I'd be happy one,
To be king for you, and to grieve for you,
A wreath to take on,
Oh my one firstborn!
You to Sacrament bow
Do not blacken brows
And all forty — count —
Forty churches now.
You with steps do walk — with a young one's walk —
All the many thrills
Of the seven hills.
Time will come for you:
And the daughters — too
You will give Moscow
With sweet sorrow.
My sleep by my will, like a ringing bell,
Early dawns above —
On the Vagankov.
2. From my hands — not a hand-created town…
From my hands — not a hand-created town,
My gorgeous brother, my strange one.
Upon the church - Forty times forty, side by side,
And pigeons that above them glide.
And Spassky — with flowers - gate,
Where Orthodox Believer doffs his hat.
The starry belltower — haven from sin —
Where from the people's kisses floor is clean.
Incomparable five-cathedral round
Accept, my ancient and inspired friend.
To Unexpected Joy in the garden
I'll lead my guest from foreign land.
The sleepless bells will ring, will shine
The cupolas of gold very fine,
And a cloth will be dropped by Mother of God
Upon you from the purple clouds.
And you will get up, full of divine power..
And you won't repent that you were my lover.
3. Past the towers at night…
Past the towers at night
We are rushed by squares.
Oh, how roar of soldiers
In the night instills fear!
Rumble, loud heart!
Kiss with passion, love!
This roar is so bestial!
Daring — oh — is blood!
My mouth is aflame,
Given that sight's divine.
Like a golden chest
Iverskaya does shine.
You stop picking quarrels
And a candle light,
That it won't be now
With you as I'd like.
4. The day will come — a sad day, they say!..
The day will come — a sad day, they say!
They'll finish ruling, finish crying, burn away —
Chilled with the others' nickels all the same —
My eyes, moveable like the flame.
And — like a double as his double he does sense —
The likeness will appear through light face.
O, I at last will merit thee,
A gorgeous belt of beauty!
And from afar — do I envy thee? —
Will pull, absently cristening,
A pilgrimage along the road black
To my hand, which I surely won't draw back,
To my hand, on which the ban no longer sits,
To my hand, that no more exists.
Your kisses, O the living ones,
I won't oppose at first — not one.
The majesty's shawl beautiful
Has shrouded me from head to heel.
Nothing will make me blush, today
I have a holy Easter day.
Along the streets of left-alone Moscow
I will drive forth, and you will slowly go.
And none will lag behind along the road,
And on coffin's roof will thunder the first stone —
And sleep, self-loving and lonely
Will be resolved finally.
And nothing will be needed to Marina
Our newly-introduced ballerina.
5. Above the city Peter cursed to hell…
Above the city Peter cursed to hell
Rolled the delirious thunder of the bells.
Turned over thundering the high tide of the sea
Above the woman that was rebuked by thee.
To Peter and to you, O Tsar, praise be!
But bells are higher still than both of ye.
While they are ringing still out of the blue —
Indisputable, Moscow's primogeniture.
And sixteen hundred churches, near and far
All laugh at puny hubris of the tsars.
6. The rain of bells drizzles above…
The rain of bells drizzles above
The blue of near-Moscow groves.
Blind men wander the Kaluga road —
Beautiful — Kaluga — song, and the same
Washes and washes the names
Of peaceful wanderers, in darkness of ones praising God.
And I think at these times: Someday I
Of you, friends, and you, enemies, having tired,
And of compliance of Russian word —
A silver cross on my chest I will don
Cross myself and quietly go along
The old Kaluga road.
7. Seven hills — just like seven bells!..
Seven hills — just like seven bells!
Belltowers on the seven bells.
Sixteen hundred of them, to count them all.
Full of bells are these Moscow's seven hills!
In the ringing, fine-gold day of John
The Baptist was born. House like gingerbread,
And around a hedge, and around a hedge,
And the churches there stand with golden heads.
And as nuns were pouring to dining hall,
The first ringing I did love, I did love
And the sorceress from a neighbor's yard
And hot sleep and noise in the stove.
Do conduct me, all you imbecile,
Thieving, flagellant Moscow crowd!
Priest, shut my mouth more tightly still
With the ringing-bell Moscow's ground!
8. Moscow — what a giant…
Moscow — what a giant
And strangely-mannered home!
In Russia all are homeless.
We all to you will come.
A knife behind a boot-leg,
A shoulder brand in shame.
From far away us all
You will call all the same.
Upon the penal brandings,
On every kind of ill —
A baby Panteleimon
We have, O man who heals,
And there behind that door,
Where all the people pour —
There the fine golden heart
Is burning of Iver.
And "Halleluiah" pours
Upon the fields grown tan.
I kiss you in the bosom,
O the Moscow land!
9. With a red brush
With a red brush
The mountain-ash burned:
The leaves were falling
And I was born.
Hundreds of belltowers
Argued at least.
It was the Saturday:
John the Baptist.
And in my teeth now
I want to crush
The hot ashberry's
Bitter brush.
From Cycle "Insomnia"
1. In a shady ring my eyes…
In a shady ring my eyes
She surrounded — insomnia.
With a shady wreath insomnia
Did my eyes bind.
At night — the same!
To idols don't pray.
Idol-worshipper - I'll give
Your secret away.
To you — day's not enough,
Fire of sun above!
You pale-faced one, wear
My rings' pair!
You screamed - and proclaimed
The wreath of shade.
Enough — did you — call me?
Enough — did you — sleep with me?
People bow to you.
Light in face you'll lie.
I'll be reader to you,
I, insomnia:
Sleep, soothed,
Sleep, rewarded one,
Sleep, wreathed,
Woman.
That — you would sleep - easy,
I will sing — to thee:
"Never-silent one,
Go to sleep, my girl,
You the sleepless one,
Sleep, my little pearl."
And to whom we didn't write letters so,
And to whom we did not vow..
Sleep.
Here now parted are
The inseparable.
Here released from arms
Are your little arms.
Here you're tormented,
My dear tormentess.
Sleep's — holy.
All — sleep.
Wreath's — gone.
8 April 1916
2. In my giant city it is night…
In my giant city it is night.
From the sleepy home I alight
People think: Daughter and wife
And I recall just this: Night.
On my way blows the wind of July
And somewhere music in a window — barely.
Ah, now the wind will blow until dawn
Into the chest through the chest's thin wall.
There's light on the window, and a black poplar,
A flower in the hand, and ringing in the tower,
And this step nobody behind,
And this my shade, but me you can't find.
Fires — like threads of golden beads,
Taste of night leaf between my teeth.
Free me from shackles of the day,
That I'm your dream, friends, understand.
3. After a sleepless night the body gets weaker…
After a sleepless night the body gets weaker,
It becomes dear and not yours — and nobody's.
Just like a seraph you smile to people
And arrows moan in the slow arteries.
After a sleepless night the arms get weaker
And deeply equal to you are the friend and foe.
Smells like Florence in the frost, and in each
Sudden sound is the whole rainbow.
Tenderly light the lips, and the shadow's golden
Near the sunken eyes. Here the night has sparked
This brilliant likeness — and from the dark night
Only just one thing — the eyes — are growing dark.
4. This night today I am alone in the night…
This night today I am alone in the night —
A sleepless and a homeless nun!
This night today I have the keys
Of all the gates of capital, just one!
The sleeplessness has pushed me on the way.
O, dusky Kremlin, how you're beautiful!
I kiss into the chest this night today
The whirling-round ground as it does howl!
The stifling wind blows straight into the soul,
The hair arises — not the hair, but down.
Those who are pitied and those who are kissed —
This night today I pity everyone.
5. A window here again…
A window here again
Where they don't sleep again.
Maybe they thus sit,
Maybe they drink wine.
Or they would not part
Simply the two hands.
There is such a window
In each house, friend.
Window in the night —
Partings', meetings' scream!
Maybe — hundred candles,
Maybe — only three.
And my restless mind
Cannot find its peace.
In my very home
Was begotten this.
Pray, friend, for the sleepless home
Behind a window with a flame!
23 December 1916
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© Ilya Shambat, Translation. Can be reproduced if non-commercial.
