The soul and the name

While a ball is laughing with fire rays,
The soul can't sleep quiet.
But I was named by God in the other way,
It is the sea name, of sea kind!

In waltz rounding, with a tender sigh
I can't forget the melancholy sight.
And God presented me the dreams another:
The sea dreams, of sea kind!

The hall is singing, luring with fires,
Singing and calling with the sparkles.
But God has given me the soul other:
It is the sea soul, of sea kind!

poem by Marina Tsvetaeva (1911), translated by Lyudmila Purgina
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I like the way...

I like the way when Thee are free of mine.
I like the life when mine belong Thee never.
And never heavy Earth will ever fly
From our feet when we have met together.

I like the way when I could be so gay,
And careless, and never pay attention
To words, and not confuse in wave,
That flushes when I see Thee by occasion.

I say Thee 'Thank' by heart and by my hand,
For love, though Thee do hardly know me.
For rest at night, for random meetings band,
For sunshine we do not delight together.
For Thee, alas, get never ill by me.
For me, alas, would bring Thee illness never.

poem by Marina Tsvetaeva, translated by Lyudmila Purgina
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The House

From knitted brows
Looks - my house,
As day of youth
Is greeting me.
As youth itself:
'Hello! It's me! '

Well-known forehead
Under the coat
Of ivy spread,
Confused by weight.

Was not in vain
The wade through mud
To this, it's plain,
Suggested hut.
The house
Like museum - old,
It's attic front -
Like Apollon

[...] Read more

poem by Marina Tsvetaeva (06 September 1931), translated by Lyudmila Purgina
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In Paris

The houses are close to sky,
And sky is lower to earth - attraction?
In great and joyful Paris town
I feel the same and secret anguish.

The boulevards keep noise in evening,
The last ray of the sun is gone.
And everywhere you see people,
Walking in pairs, in accord.

I am alone here. Its so sweety
To lean to chestnut with my head!
And in my heart the Rostand's greetings
In verses, as in Moscow left.

And Paris in the night is alien and poor,
The previous delirium is better to my heart!
I'm going to home - the voilets're there,
And someone's portrait smart!

[...] Read more

poem by Marina Tsvetaeva (June 1909, Paris), translated by Lyudmila Purgina
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