"Marina Tsvetaeva. The Best (translated by Ilya Shambat) (англ.)" - читать интересную книгу автора

Read - having gathered a bouquet
Of hens' blindness and poppies -
That they called me Marina
And how old I was.

Don't think I'll appear with menace,
That a grave here is hidden..
I loved to laugh too much
When it was forbidden.

And blood to the skin was rushing,
And my curls did twist..
I once was too, passerby!
Passerby, cease and desist!

Tear off for yourself a wild stem
And after him a berry:
There are no strawberries sweeter
Or bigger than at cemetery.

But only don't grimly stand there,
On the chest lowering your head.
Lightly do think about me
And lightly about me forget.

How the ray alights you!
You're all in a golden dust..
And at my voice from below
Do not you be nonplussed.




x x x


These my poems, written so early
That I did not know then I was a poet,
Which having tore, like droplets from a fountain,
Like sparks from a rocket,

Into a sanctuary, where there is sleep and incense
Like little devils having burst,
These my poems about youth and about death,
This unread verse!

Scattered through shops in piles of dust
Where nobody picked them up or does,
These my poems, like precious wine,