Irina Odoevtseva
I can’t forgive myself...

I can’t forgive myself —
Though the others I’ve forgiven all —
That in your pernicious fate
I changed nothing,
Helped you in no way,
Failed to protect you from death.

All that your soul requested,
All that it loved here...
I was unable. I could not.

So little warmth on the earth,
So much coldness — and evil!

It seems early to die,
Although there’s nothing to live for,

Nothing and no one.
A surrounding, shoreless ocean
Of my despair —
Despair triumphant.

My tears — not water and salt,
But tears of a widow — blood and pain.

It’s frightening to be alone
But still more frightening — to be with others —
In this gyration of nonsense —
More frightening. More unbearable.

In the transparent silence of night,
Resound, barely audible,
Poems you dictated before death.

Tenth wave of despair.
               Darkness.
                            And a lapse into unconsciousness —
                            Till tomorrow.

Translated by Temira Pachmuss