Marina Tsvetaeva
Fierce valley, Valley of love...

Fierce valley,
Valley of love.
Hands: white with salt.
Mouth: black with blood.

A left-breasted Amazon’s
Shaft just missed my temple.
Yes — my head on a stone —
Life, who could love you?

To hell with my plans! To hell with my lies!
Here: as a lark, there: as honeysuckle,
Here: by the handfuls: all pitched-out along
With my savageries — and silences,
With my rainbows glimpsed through tears,
With my pilfering, my prevarications...

Life, yes, you are a darling!
And greedy too!
You leave your bite-mark
On my right shoulder.

Chirping in darkness...
With the birds I rouse myself!
To leave my own cheerful mark
On your chronicle.

Translated by Mary Jane White