Insanity - and good reason, Disgrace - and honor, All, that brings on thoughtfulness, Is spilling over - In me. - All the penal passions Become as one! - All images wage war inside This hair of mine! The lover's whisper, all around By rote I know, Experience of twenty two years Nothing but sorrow! But - won't you say - innocently pink Look I, I'm virtuoso's virtuoso In art of lies. In her let out like a ball, Caught once again, The blood of Polish great-grandmoms Is evident. I lie because in cemeteries The grass does grow, I lie because in cemeteries Snowstorm does blow... From violin - from automobile - From silk, from fire... From torment that not only me They all desired! From pain, that I am not the bride Of the groom... From poem and gesture - for the gesture And for the poem! From tender boa on the neck... And how can I Not lie - when my voice sounds more tender When I do lie... By Marina Tsvetayeva Translated from Russian by Ilya Shambat https://sites.google.com/site/ibshambat
