Not the lyre of a lover
I’ll carry through my land
The rattle of a leper
Will sing in my hand.
Не лирою влюбленного
Иду пленять народ —
Трещотка прокаженного
В моей руке поет.
Успеете наахаться
И воя, и кляня.
Я научу шарахаться
Вас, смелых, от меня.
Я не искала прибыли
И славы не ждала,
Я под крылом у гибели
Все тридцать лет жила.
«To the memory of Marina Tsvetaeva As twenty-two years ago / No matter what the name, think death, no matter / What petal, 'tis in flames and under soles. / And yet to me, amid this groan and clatter, / Another loss outvoices all the tolls. / Why wasn't I – an arrow – meant to perish...»
«A lone white sail steadfastly glistens / Through azure mists afar at sea. / What does it seek in far-off distance? / What has it lost in native realm? The waves break fast, the wind is clipping, / The mast is creaking as it sways. / Alas, it seeks no blissful being, / Nor does it run fr...»
«I’m sad, because I love you way too much to bear, / And I’m aware: the baleful rumor mill won’t spare / Your blooming youth. And soon your destiny will reckon / Your recompense for all blithe days for all sweet seconds. / With bitter tears and rueful sorrow you’ll repay. / I am sa...»
«What am I for, me, just a grain? / I'm living toiling hard with care, / For happiness I spend my life in vain, / I'm never pleased, weep on in my despair! What do I seek? Do I want more? / Where is my place? What am I for? There is a kin who die to seize / All proper answers in a blink. ...»