O Muse of Tears…
Tsvetaeva
…I turned away from everything,
From earth’s every blessing.
The stump in the water became
The guardian spirit of this place.
We are akin to guests on this planet,
To live – is simply a habit.
In the air I seem to hear
Two voices exchanging thought.
Two? ...But by the eastern wall,
Among its tangle of raspberries,
There’s a branch of elder, fresh and dark.
Ah! It’s a message from Marina.
...И отступилась я здесь от всего,
От земного всякого блага.
Духом, хранителем «места сего»
Стала лесная коряга.
Все мы немного у жизни в гостях,
Жить — это только привычка.
Чудится мне на воздушных путях
Двух голосов перекличка.
Двух? А еще у восточной стены,
В зарослях крепкой малины,
Темная, свежая ветвь бузины...
Это — письмо от Марины.
«Fine threads paint the sky / Wanting to overtake the day, / And night has tipped / Into my soul, into the lakes. I want to scream something / Into its dark, open jaws, / To bring my ear to it, / Press up against it with my tremulous heart. You walk holding your breath, / The fields a...»
«My thoughts chant: “we’re tired... we’re freezing...” / I sleep. But asleep my spirit is restless. / Racing through snowy deserts / In a dreadful, distant land. My spirit is with you through the rocking train. / My thoughts are chanting on and on, / My spirit’s in Russia, and An...»
«Seafarers of ancient pedigree, / enamored of distant horizons, / quaffing wine in dusky ports of call, / pert foreign lasses in their arms; / coxcombs of the eighteen-thirties, / modeling themselves on d'Orsay and Brummel, / bringing to the dandy's pose / all the naïveté of an adoles...»
«Upon green hills wild droves of horses blow / The golden bloom off of the days that go. From the high hillocks to the blue-ing bay / Falls the sheer pitch of heavy manes that sway. They toss their heads above the still lagoon / Caught with a silver bridle by the moon. Snorting in fear of...»