Marina Tsvetaeva
Wires. 2. To give you all... but no, it has all been squeezed...

2.

To give you all... but no, it has all been squeezed
into rhyme and rows... The heart is more!
I am afraid that for such small misfortune
The whole of Racine and Shakespeare is not enough!

«And all wept, and supposing the blood hurts...
And all wept, and suppose among the roses — A snake»...
But there was one — by Phaedra — Hippolyte!
Ariadne's Lament — for one Theseus!

Torment! Neither shores nor milestones!
Yes, I affirm, the account is overdrawn
That I lose them all in you, all those who
Anywhere or anytime, did not exist!

What aspirations — when you are thoroughly
Saturated — the air becomes stale
No Naxos for me — own bone
No own blood under the skin — Styx!

Vanity! Is within me! Everywhere! Whith closed
Eyes: bottomless! Without daylight! And the
Calendar date lies...
Like you — Severance,
I am not Ariadne and no... — Loss!

Oh, across what seas, in what towns
Should I seek you? (invisible to me — the sightless!)
I entrust seeing you off to wires,
And, leaning against a telegraph pole — I weep.

Translated by Rolf W. F. Gross