摘录 十一月 （1）

selected poems from marina tsvetaeva

I'd like to live with You

I'd like to live with You
In a small town,
Where there are eternal twilights
And eternal bells.
And in a small village inn—
The faint chime
Of ancient clocks—like droplets of time.
And sometimes, in the evenings, from some garret—
A flute,
And the flautist himself in the window.
And big tulips in the window-sills.
And maybe, You would not even love me . . .

In the middle of the room—a huge tiled oven,
On each tile—a small picture:
A rose—a heart—a ship.—
And in the one window—
Snow, snow, snow.

You would lie—thus I love You: idle,
Indifferent, carefree.
Now and then the sharp strike
Of a match.

The cigarette glows and burns down,
And trembles for a long, long time on its edge
In a grey brief pillar—of ash.
You're too lazy even to flick it—
And the whole cigarette flies into the fire.

December 10, 1916


It's time to take off amber

It's time to take off amber,
It's time to change lexicons,
It's time to put out the lantern
Above the door . . .

February, 1941


In the pine-tree, tenderly tenderly

In the pine-tree, tenderly tenderly,
finely finely: something hissed.
It is a child with black
eyes that I see in my sleep.

From the fair pine-trees hot
resin drips, and in this
splendid night there are
saw-teeth going over my heart.