Marina Tsvetaeva
Girlfriend. 9. I wouldn’t dare suggest a direction...

I wouldn’t dare suggest a direction,
or even take your hand:
you go your own way in the world—
but I long for you with a yearning eternal—
it’s not infatuation, you’re not my first girl.

The second I saw you, my heart told me, “Her!”
You could do no wrong, I forgave in advance,
and at random, anything you’d ever done.
Before I even knew your name,
all I knew was I loved you,
I hoped you could love me.

I see in the near-sneering curve of your lip
defiance and pride;
how nobly you furrow your high genius brow;
these bespeak a heart
that never backs down from a fight!

Your silk dress gleams like dark armor,
the slight Jewish lilt in your speech
makes your words seem even more
exotic and deep.
Everything about you
makes me so happy it hurts,
your unconventional beauty too—

not beautiful so much as handsome,
no delicate flower that wilts in the heat,
you’re all steely, elegant stem;
meaner than mean at need,
sharp as the bite of a spice.
What hot sun hatched you,
what ship brought you back
from what sultry West Indian isle?

You’re equally singular, just as unsettling,
whether you brandish a fan
or a gentleman’s silver-topped cane;
it’s blood-deep, bone-certain in you, who you are,
right down to the tips of your long wicked fingers:
girl-tenderness weirdly at one
with a brashness as butch as a boy’s.

I’m not scared to announce
what this means for us,
what you mean to me:
you with the brow of a Beethoven,
beautiful stranger I’m poet enough
to ward with a word or a verse
all the world’s scorn and its smirks.

Translated by Seraphina Powell