My white-fingered one, my dark princess.
Marina Tsvetaeva
My double and my jester, unseen,
You who hide at the heart of bushes,
Who nestle in the house of the stare,
Who flit among cemetery crosses.
Who call from the Marinkina Tower:
«Here I am, I’m home today.
Cherish me, my own fields,
Because of everything I suffered.
My loved ones lost in the abyss,
My native country despoiled.»
Today we are together, Marina,
Crossing the midnight capital,
With all those millions behind us,
And never a more voiceless crew,
Walking to the sound of funeral bells,
And to the savage, Moscow moaning
Of wind and snow, erasing our steps.
Белорученькая моя, чернокнижница.
М. Цветаева
Невидимка, двойник, пересмешник,
Что ты прячешься в черных кустах,
То забьешься в дырявый скворешник,
То мелькнешь на погибших крестах,
То кричишь из Маринкиной башни:
«Я сегодня вернулась домой,
Полюбуйтесь, родимые пашни,
Что за это случилось со мной.
Поглотила любимых пучина,
И разрушен родительский дом».
Mы c тобою сегодня, Марина,
По столице полночной идем,
А за нами таких миллионы,
И безмолвнее шествия нет,
А вокруг погребальные звоны,
Да московские дикие стоны
Вьюги, наш заметающей след.
«As the first signs of winter / Hover above the Neva's expanse, / We compare the scattered leaves / Along its banks to summer's radiance. But I admire these old poplars / Whose branches refuse to shed / Their dry and rusty armor / Till winter's first storms ahead. How to describe our si...»
«There are faces like magnificent portals, / Everywhere the exalted is found in the small. / There are faces like wretched hovels, / Where liver is cooked and rennet boiled. / Some are cold, lifeless faces / Locked up with a dungeon's bars. / Others are towers, where no one has toiled / ...»
«1. In the Rain My umbrella tears and like a bird / Breaks loose, cracking. / A damp hut of rain stirs and steams / Above the world. / And I stand amid the intertwining / Of cool stretched bodies, / As if the rain wished to merge / With me for a while. 2. Autumn Morning Lovers cease ...»
«Storms circle round the village, / And through anguished rain, / Flashes of lightning shatter / The sky once again. / It pours as from a flask, / And above assembled birches / A feast of electricity and rain / In fury and chaos merges. / But we walk along the road / Among the bush...»