Marina Tsvetaeva
Insanity — and good reason...

Insanity — and good reason,
Disgrace — and honor,
All, that brings on thoughtfulness,
Is spilling over —

In me. — All the penal passions
Become as one! —
All images wage war inside
This hair of mine!

The lover's whisper, all around
By rote I know,
Experience of twenty two years
Nothing but sorrow!

But — won't you say — innocently pink
Look I,
I'm virtuoso's virtuoso
In art of lies.

In her let out like a ball,
Caught once again,
The blood of Polish great-grandmoms
Is evident.

I lie because in cemeteries
The grass does grow,
I lie because in cemeteries
Snowstorm does blow...

From violin — from automobile —
From silk, from fire...
From torment that not only me
They all desired!

From pain, that I am not the bride
Of the groom...
From poem and gesture - for the gesture
And for the poem!

From tender boa on the neck...
And how can I
Not lie — when my voice sounds more tender
When I do lie...

Translated by Ilya Shambat