Marina Tsvetaeva Poems

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 "I will not part! -- There is no end!" She clings and clings...
And in the breast -- the rise
Of threatening waters,
Of notes...Steadfast: like an immutable
Mystery: we will part!...Read more of this...

 These are ashes of treasures:
Of hurt and loss.
These are ashes in face of which
Granite is dross.
Dove, naked and brilliant,
It has no mate.
Solomon's ashes
Over vanity that's great.
Time's menacing chalkmark,
Not to be overthrown.
Means God knocks at the door
-- Once the house has burned down!
Not choked yet by refuse,
Days' and dreams' conqueror.
Like a thunderbolt -- Spirit
Of early grey hair.
It's not you who've...Read more of this...

 Children - are staring of eyes so frightful, 
Mischievous legs on a wooden floor, 
Children - is sun in the gloomy motives, 
Hypotheses' of happy sciences world. 

Eternal disorder in the ring's gold, 
Tender word's whispers in semi-sleep, 
On the wall in a cozy child's room, the dreaming 
Peaceful pictures of birds and sheep. 

Children - is evening, evening...Read more of this...

 Much like me, you make your way forward,
Walking with downturned eyes.
Well, I too kept mine lowered.
Passer-by, stop here, please.

Read, when you've picked your nosegay
Of henbane and poppy flowers,
That I was once called Marina,
And discover how old I was.

Don't think that there's any grave here,
Or that I'll come and throw you out ...
I myself was too much given
To laughing when...Read more of this...

 The demon in me's not dead,
He's living, and well.
In the body as in a hold,
In the self as in a cell.
The world is but walls.
The exit's the axe.
("All the world's a stage,"
The actor prates.)
And that hobbling buffoon
Is no joker;
In the body as in glory,
In the body as in a toga.
May you live forever!
Cherish your life,
Only poets in bone
Are as...Read more of this...

 In the sweet, Atlantic
Breathing of spring
My curtain's like a butterfly,
Huge, fluttering
Like a Hindu widow
To a pyre's golden blaze,
Like a drowsy Naiad
To past-window seas....Read more of this...

 In the old Strauss waltz for the first time 
We had listened to your quiet call, 
Since then all the living things are alien 
And the knocking of the clock consoles. 

We, like you, are gladly greeting sunsets, 
And are drunk on nearness of the end. 
All, with which on better nights we're wealthy 
Is put in the hearts...Read more of this...

 Whence cometh such tender rapture?
Those curls--they are not the first ones
I've smoothened, and I've already
Known lips--that were darker than yours.

The stars have risen and faded,
--Whence cometh such tender rapture?--
And eyes have risen and faded 
In face of these eyes of mine

I'd never yet hearkened unto
Such songs in the depths of darkness,
--Whence cometh such tender rapture?--
My head on the bard's...Read more of this...