{"id":5257,"date":"2015-07-12T10:33:14","date_gmt":"2015-07-12T07:33:14","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.magdalenabiela.com\/?p=5257"},"modified":"2015-07-12T10:33:14","modified_gmt":"2015-07-12T07:33:14","slug":"marina-tsvetaeva","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.magdalenabiela.com\/?p=5257","title":{"rendered":"Marina Tsvetaeva"},"content":{"rendered":"

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Terminal Silhouette<\/p>\n

I know you not and in no way
\nI want to lose starry illusions
\nWith such a face in worst confusion
\nPeople are loyal to a ray.<\/p>\n

All that the fate has marked for grave
\nHave such closed-off face instead.
\nYou are a page that was not read
\nAnd no, you will not be a slave.<\/p>\n

A slave with such a face? Oh no!
\nThere is no error here by chance.
\nYour slender figure and your glance
\nWill be secret to many, I know.<\/p>\n

A heavy bracelet of your hair
\nUnder the thrown-over scarf
\n(You’d do with guitar or a harp)
\nAnd your pale face, as pale as air.<\/p>\n

I know you not. And possibly
\nYou’re kind and moderate like all.
\nMaybe! May these be ravings all!
\nFor only raving ones may be!<\/p>\n

Perhaps the day is not so far
\nWhen I will fathom what’s unseemly…
\nBut this to err – it is so relieving!
\nIt is so easy yet to err!<\/p>\n

Touching the scarf with a light hand,
\nThere where the whistles shrilly blow.
\nThis is the you that I will know
\nWhere you just like a riddle stand.<\/p>\n

………………………………………………………………..<\/p>\n

Lady with Camelias<\/p>\n

Your whole way with shining evil’s coal
\nMargaret, they all do bravely judge.
\nWhat’s your fault? The body sinned as such,
\nInnocent you have retained your soul.<\/p>\n

To all people it’s the same, I know,
\nTo all nodded with a blurry smile.
\nAnd with this sorrowful semi-smile
\nYou have wept yourself long time ago.<\/p>\n

Who will know? Whose hand will help along?
\nNo exception to the rule, one thing entrances!
\nThey eternally await embraces,
\nThey eternally await, “I’m thirsty! Be my own!”<\/p>\n

Day and night the bane of false confessions..
\nDay and night, tomorrow, and once more!
\nSpoke more eloquently than the word
\nYour dark glance, the martyr’s dark expression.<\/p>\n

The accursed ring is growing narrow,
\nOn the goddess of the world avenges fate..
\nSmiling childishly, into your face
\nA young tender boy glances with sorrow.<\/p>\n

The entire world is saved by love!
\nIn but her salvation and defense is.
\nAll’s in love. O Margaret, sleep in peace.
\nAll’s in love. I’m saved because I love.<\/p>\n

…………………………………………………………………<\/p>\n

To Mother<\/p>\n

In the old Strauss waltz for the first time
\nWe had listened to your quiet call,
\nSince then all the living things are alien
\nAnd the knocking of the clock consoles.<\/p>\n

We, like you, are gladly greeting sunsets,
\nAnd are drunk on nearness of the end.
\nAll, with which on better nights we’re wealthy
\nIs put in the hearts by your own hand.<\/p>\n

Bowing to a child’s dreams with no tire.
\n(Only crescent looked in them indeed
\nWithout you)! You have led your kids past
\nBitter lifetime of the thoughts and deeds.<\/p>\n

From the early age the sad one’s close to us,
\nLaughter bores and home we left behind..
\nOur ship not in good times left the harbor
\nAnd it sails by will of every wind!<\/p>\n

Azure isle of childhood is paling,
\nOn the deck of ship we stand alone.
\nIt appears, oh mother, to your daughters
\nYou’ve left an inheritance of woe.<\/p>\n

……………………………………………………………….<\/p>\n

Books in Red Binding<\/p>\n

From heaven of a childhood life
\nA farewell to me you’re sending,
\nThe ever-loyal dear friends
\nWithin a red worn down binding.
\nOn learning homework from school,
\nAt once I ran to see you yet.
\n“It’s late” – “Please, Mother, ten more lines” –
\nBut happily she did forget.
\nThe fires flicker in a lamp..
\nHow nice it is to read at home!
\nTo sounds of Greeg, Schumann and Kui
\nI learned about the fate of Tom.
\nIt’s dark.. the air is growing cold..
\nTom’s full of faith in Becky’s joy.
\nWithin the darkness of the cave
\nWanders with torch Indian Joe..
\nA cemetery.. owl is screaming..
\n(I’m scared) And now through hassocks flies
\nThe punctilious widow’s foster-child,
\nLike in a barrel Diogenes.
\nLighter than Sun is the throne hall,
\nOver the graceful boy – a crown..
\nAt once – a beggar! God! He said:
\n“Forgive, I’m heir to the throne.”
\nTo darkness comes, who comes from her.
\nSad is the destiny of Britain..
\nO, wherefore not amid red books
\nNot to go back to sleep again
\nBefore a lamp? O golden times
\nWhere sight is braver, heart is purer:
\nO golden times, I say again:
\nHuck Finn, Tom Sawyer, Prince and Beggar!<\/p>\n

……………………………………………………………………<\/p>\n

New Moon<\/p>\n

Over meadow stands new moon,
\nOver boundary of dew.
\nCome, we’ll make a friend of you,
\nDear, distant, alien.<\/p>\n

In the day I hide, am quiet.
\nMoon above – I have no might!
\nI rush on this lunar night
\nTo the shoulder of beloved.<\/p>\n

I’ll never ask me, “Who’s he?”
\nAll to know, your lips will say!
\nHugs are rude but in the day,
\nIn the day the fit is funny.<\/p>\n

In the day, torn by a demon proud,
\nWith a smile on lips I lie.
\nNight, though.. Darling, far away..
\nCrescent stands above the wood!<\/p>\n

…………………………………………………………………………..<\/p>\n

Contact through Dreams<\/p>\n

All’s for a moment, that people create,
\nGlimmer of new things dims,
\nBut yet unaltered, like sorrow, remains
\nContact through dreams.<\/p>\n

Calming.. If but to forget.. but to sleep..
\nSweetness of eyelids over eyes..
\nDreams open fates of the future, and bind
\nFor centuries.<\/p>\n

All that I stealthily thought, is to me
\nClear like a crystal clean.
\nUs, with a timeless and endless riddle,
\nUnited the dream.<\/p>\n

I do not pray, “O God, make to vanish
\nTorment of coming day!”
\nOh no, “Oh God, send to him about me
\nA dream,” I pray.<\/p>\n

May I get pale at the meeting with you –
\nSorrowful is it to meet!
\nSecret is one: The contact through dreams. We are
\nPowerless before it.<\/p>\n

X\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 X\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 X<\/p>\n

Azure are the fields, where our dreaming had met.
\nDon’t rush my memory!
\nBe truthful: Anew you’ll touch the silver cup
\nNot soon with a one such as me.<\/p>\n

All’s destroyed, not by our volition. And sweet
\nIs the sigh over lost heaven! May be! –
\nYou’re all – May’s! For you is my sorrow of May.
\nAll that’s dreamed of in May is for thee.<\/p>\n

Here we don’t need to rendezvous. Truly, we’ll meet
\nWhere the truth with the truth I shall meet;
\nEvery evening on bridges shaky and light
\nWe come out one another to greet.<\/p>\n

A familiar figure I’ll see from afar –
\nHeart beats rarely, then frequently, though…
\nLike before you’re not wrathful, not vengeful, oh no!
\nAnd your eyes are the same, full of woe.<\/p>\n

These are dreams. To us both the night is still dear,
\nBravely breaking all barriers so.
\nBut the image of her that could not lie, my friend,
\nOnce awakened, don’t chase like a foe.<\/p>\n

And when he will appear in the evening shade
\nUnder call of a previous song,
\nNod to happiness that has elapsed with a smile
\nAnd recall without rage the one gone.<\/p>\n

……………………………………………………………………………………………<\/p>\n

Except for Love<\/p>\n

Did not love, did not weep. Oh no, did not love, but regardless
\nI have showed in the shadows the beloved likeness to you.
\nIn our sleep all things did not appear like love:
\nNo cause, no clues.<\/p>\n

From the evening hall only to us nodded this image,
\nOnly we – you and me – to it pitiful verses bore.
\nWhat has bound us stronger than love has bound others
\nIs that we adore.<\/p>\n

But the gust was escaped, and tenderly somebody approached,
\nHe who could not have prayed, but did love. To judge do not hurry!
\nLike the most tender note in awakening of the soul
\nYou’re memorable to me.<\/p>\n

In this sorrowful soul you had wandered, like in open house..
\n(In our house, in the spring)… Forgotten don’t call me!
\nAll my minutes are filled with you, except for love –
\nThe most melancholy.<\/p>\n

Marina Tsvetaeva<\/blockquote>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

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