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

For this trembling, because - is it not so -
I have a dream? -
For the ironic beauty of this,
That you - aren't he.


2
Under caresses of an ivy
Plaid I recalled yesterday's dream.
Whose victory? Who's been defeated?
What has it been?

Rethinking everything once more,
Torturing myself once again.
In this, for which no word I know,
Had love ever been?

Who was the hunter? Who - the hunted?
All is reversed as if by Satan!
What did the loudly purring Siberian
Cat, understand?

In this self-willing one another
Who in whose hand was but a ball?
Whose heart flew - yours or mine,
Do you recall?

And still again - what has it been too?
What do I want, what do I pity?
And I don't know: Did I win? Did somebody
Conquer me?


3
Today was melting, and today
Before the window I did stand.
A sober look, a freer chest,
I'm satisfied just once again.

I don't know why. Perhaps the soul
Has simply grown tired withal,
And somehow the rebellious pencil
I do not wish to touch at all.

Distant to good and evil both,
Inside the fog I stood, and thus,
Was lightly drumming with my finger
Upon the barely sounding glass.

It is indifferent to the soul