"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
And that - alas - it's not for you I'm burning.



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