Marina Tsvetaeva
The Demon in Me

The demon in me's not dead,
He's living, and well.
In the body as in a hold,
In the self as in a cell.

The world is but walls.
The exit's the axe.
(«All the world's a stage»,
The actor prates.)

And that hobbling buffoon
Is no joker;
In the body as in glory,
In the body as in a toga.

May you live forever!
Cherish your life,
Only poets in bone
Are as in a lie.

No, my eloquent brothers,
We'll not have much fun,
In the body as with Father's
Dressing-gown on.

We deserve something better.
We wilt in the warm.
In the body as in a byre.
In the self as in a cauldron.

Marvels that perish
We don't collect.
In the body as in a marsh,
In the body as in a crypt.

In the body as in furthest
Exile. It blights.
In the body as in a secret,
In the body as in the vice

Of an iron mask.

Translated by David McDuff