[296]
Your narrow shoulders are for blushing under lashes,
blushing under lashes and burning from the frosts.
Your childlike hands are for lifting heavy irons,
lifting heavy irons and for tying down ropes.
Your tender feet are for walking bare over glass,
walking barefoot over glass and the bloody sands.
And my share is to burn, a black candle for you,
to burn like a black candle that dare not pray.
1934
The sound, cautiously subdued,
of a fruit having come unglued
from a tree among unquiet hum
of the deepest silence of wood.
1908
Suddenly, from a half-dim hall,
you slid out, hidden by a shawl –
we were no trouble to a soul,
we didn't wake the drowsy help.
1908
The humid dusk covers up lies,
the tightness in a breathing chest...
It may be that I value the most
A wire-thin cross and secret ways.
1910
TWO FRAGMENTS
I'm a semaphore signal with a broken arm
at the criss-crossing of the Voronezh rails
<1935>
Black night, barrack's blight,
The fattest fleas....
<1938>
...from the Voronezh Notebooks
Kama [308]
How on the river Kama eyesight fails when
above the oaks, as on knees, stand the towns.
Row upon row, beard to beard, a spider web,
the fiery pines run younger toward the water.
The water leant its weight against a hundred
and four oars, bearing us to Kazan and Cherdyn.
There I floated down the river behind a curtained
window, curtain in the window and head aflame.
And my wife was with me – sleepless five nights,
five nights no sleep – conveying our three guards.
Voronezh, May 1935
[341]
Along the row of human heads recede the hills;
I shrink with them, will no longer be mentioned,
but in sweet books and in children’s games I will
rise up again to tell all: the sun shines on.
1936-37 [?]
[388]
I bring to my lips this bitter herb—
the leaves’ gooey cursing, the sticky oath
of our violating, perjuring earth:
mother of snowdrops, of maples and oaks.
Look how I’m buttressed and blinded,
subordinated and resigned to the roots;
Isn’t it overwhelming and wonderful
for one’s sore eyes in the thundering park
where the frogs, like droplets of mercury,
linking up their voices in a single sphere
transform the fragile reeds into branches,
the steam-like mist into a milky mirage.
Voronezh, 30 April 1937
* * *
Marina Tsvetayeva
(1892-1941)
Translated from the Russian by
Alex Cigale
Into the blue sky, eyes open wide:
How I exclaim – Thunder will stride!
Passing a man I raise my brow:
How I exclaim – Still there is love!
Feeling beyond apathy’s gray mist:
I still exclaim – There will be verse!
1936
He’s gone – can’t eat:
No taste – in bread.
All’s chalk,
For which I will not reach.
… My bread he was,
And snow also.
The snow’s not white,
And bread not right.
Jan. 23, 1940
Your years are – a mountain,
Your time is – that of kings.
Fool! To love – you’re too old.
Old friends mean – more than love.
Older than monsters, roots,
Older than altar’s stone
On Crete, older even than
The oldest druid’s runes.
January 29, 1940
It’s time to shed my amber,
It’s time to trade in words,
It’s time to dim the light
Above my door…
February 1941
Two suns grow cold – spare me God please!
One – up in the sky, the other – in my breast.
Just as these suns – can I forgive myself?
Just as these suns had made me crazed!
And so they both chill – their rays cause pain.
The one that cools first had been the warmest.
October 5, 1915
Fate arrives not with a roar or thunder
But just so: snow falls,
Street lamps glow. A man walks
Up to the door.
The long spark the doorbell expels.
He ascends and raises his eyes,
In the house absolute silence
And the figures on fire.
November 16, 1916
A kiss on the forehead – erases worry.
I kiss your forehead.
A kiss on the eyes – removes insomnia.
I kiss you on the eyes.
A kiss on the lips – is water to drink.
I kiss your lips.
A kiss on the forehead – erases memory.
I kiss your forehead.
June 5, 1917
One half of my window dissolved.
One half of my soul materialized.
Come, let us open the other half.
That other half of the window!
May 1920