Marina Tsvetaeva. The Best of Marina Tsvetayeva (translated by Ilya Shambat March 22, 2002 The most comprehensive translation of Marina Tsvetayeva in English language, prepared for 110th anniversary of her birth. Translations from Russian original in chronological order. Includes classics and lesser-known poems, translated directly from Russian anthology. For inquiries, contact ilya_shambat@yahoo.com To Mother In the old Strauss waltz for the first time We had listened to your quiet call, Since then all the living things are alien And the knocking of the clock consoles. We, like you, are gladly greeting sunsets, And are drunk on nearness of the end. All, with which on better nights we're wealthy Is put in the hearts by your own hand. Bowing to a child's dreams with no tire. (Only crescent looked in them indeed Without you)! You have led your kids past Bitter lifetime of the thoughts and deeds. From the early age the sad one's close to us, Laughter bores and home we left behind.. Our ship not in good times left the harbor And it sails by will of every wind! Azure isle of childhood is paling, On the deck of ship we stand alone. It appears, oh mother, to your daughters You've left an inheritance of woe. x x x The street awakens. She looks, exhausted With the mute windows' sullen eyes, On sleepy faces, red from the cold, That with thoughts chase the stubborn sleep away. The blackened trees with rime are covered - With trace mysterious of the night's fun, In gleaming brocade sad ones are standing, Just like the dead the alive among. The gray coat mingles, trampled upon, The forage-cup with a wreathe, a bored look, And the red arms, pressed to the ears, And the black apron with the tied books. The street awakens. She looks, unpleasant With mute windows' sullen eyes, it would seem. To sleep, in a happy thought be forgotten, What life seems to us, this is a dream! | |
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