Wednesday, August 13, 2008

Poetry... Boris Pasternak

A Russian Poem by Boris Pasternak

February. Get ink, shed tears.
Write of it, sob your heart out, sing,
While torrential slush that roars
Burns in the blackness of the spring.

Go hire a buggy. For six grivnas,
Race through the noise of bells and wheels
To where the ink and all your grieving
Are muffled when the rainshower falls.

To where, like pears burnt black as charcoal,
A myriad rooks, plucked from the trees,
Fall down into the puddles, hurl
Dry sadness deep into the eyes.

Below, the wet black earth shows through,
With sudden cries the wind is pitted,
The more haphazard, the more true
The poetry that sobs its heart out.

1912. By Boris Pasternak. Translated by Alex Miller.

2 comments:

Mother of Perseus said...

like I wrote elsewhere... lovely.

don't be emily said...

tear my heart open, sew myself shut