Marina Tsvetaeva
A soldier — into a trench...

A soldier — into a trench,
A head of hair — into grayness,
Sky! I blend with you, sea-like.
On every syllable
As at a secret look,
I turn,
I preen.

A Scythian — into a skirmish,
A whip — into a wild dance.
Sea! I brave into you, sky-like.
In every poem
As at a secret catcall
I stop,
I listen.

Every line cries: «Stop!»
A fortune in every period.
Eye! I melt into you, light-like;
Go loose. Like a guitar
Anguish,
I reshift myself,
I reshape myself.

Marriage is not in swan’s down
But in swan’s feather!
There are different marriages, disjointed ones!
At the sight of a dash
Like at a secret sign,
Eyebrows twitch
Mistrusting what?

Away from the thin soup of glory
My spirit grew strong!
And my treasury is full!
Like the bread of the Lord,
Under your touch,
I grind myself anew,
I break myself in half.

Translated by Nina Kossman