It’s northerly here, and fall of this year,
I chose to be my girl-friend.
I’ve carried here the memory sure
Of my last rejecting a date –
The flame, so cold, so easy and pure,
Of my overcoming the fate.
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Why is this age worse than earlier ages?
have we not fingered the foulest woundsand left them unhealed by our hands?In the west the falling light still glows,and the clustered housetops glitter in the sun,but here Death is already chalking the doors with crosses,and calling the ravens, and the ravens are flying in.
I don’t know if you’re alive or dead.
Or only when the sunsets fadeBe mourned serenely in my thought?All is for you: the daily prayer,The sleepless heat at night,And of my verses, the whiteFlock, and of my eyes, the blue fire.No-one was more cherished, no-one torturedMe more, notEven the one who betrayed me to torture,Not even the one who caressed me and forgot.
It ceased – the voice, inimitable here,
He changed himself into eternal ear…Into the rain, of that sang more than once.And all the flowers, that grow under heavens,Began to flourish – to meet the going death…But suddenly it got the silent one and saddened –The planet, bearing the humble name, the Earth.
I drink to home, that is lost,
To loneness in which we’re both,And to your future, fine, —To lips by which I was betrayed,To eyes that deathly cold,To that that the world is bad and thatWe were not saved by God.
‘What does a certain woman know of the hour of her death?’ – Mandelstam
forcing you to appear from the past, passdown a train, swaying, to find meclear profiled through the window-glass?Angel or bird? How we debated!The poet thought you like translucent straw.Through dark lashes, your eyes, Georgian,looking, with gentleness, on it all.Shade, forgive. Blue skies, Flaubert,Insomnia, late-blooming lilac flower,bring you, and the magnificence of the year,nineteen-thirteen, to mind,…
I — am your voice, the warmth of your breath,
The futile trembling of futile wings,I am with you to he end, in any case.That’s why you so fervently loveMe in my weakness and in my sin;That’s why you impulsively gaveMe the best of your sons;That’s why you never even askedMe for any word of himAnd blackened my forever-deserted homeWith fumes of praise.And they say…