"Marina Tsvetaeva. The Best (translated by Ilya Shambat) (англ.)" - читать интересную книгу автора I like it that you're burning not for me,
I like it that it's not for you I'm burning And that the heavy sphere of Planet Earth Will underneath our feet no more be turning I like it that I can be unabashed And humorous and not to play with words And not to redden with a smothering wave When with my sleeves I'm lightly touching yours. I like it, that before my very eyes You calmly hug another; it is well That for me also kissing someone else You will not threaten me with flames of hell. That this my tender name, not day nor night, You will recall again, my tender love; That never in the silence of the church They will sing "halleluiah" us above. With this my heart and this my hand I thank You that - although you don't know it - You love me thus; and for my peaceful nights And for rare meetings in the hour of sunset, That we aren't walking underneath the moon, That sun is not above our heads this morning, That you - alas - are burning not for me x x x My ancestor was a rider, A thief, man with violin. Is this not why my taste wanders And hair smells of wind? Does not he steal from a car, Tan, apricots with my hand, The author of my passionate fate, Hook-nosed and curly-haired. Twirling between teeth a wild rose He wondered at tiller with plough.. He was a bad comrade - and wild And tender he was at love! Moon, beads, pipe and neighboring girls - All of them - he loved. I also think that my yellow-eyed |
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