More Poems

Sometimes greatpoets sings for me.

Humbly Fireside

sitting humbly fireside
watching how you move the acts
from one scene to the next
effortlessly.

your laugh is unpoisoned,
a little nervous,
and a family dances around you that
is quaking with love.

there are no chains between you and them
only kite strings,
dew-heavy spider webs glistening
in the fire-lit night.

how do you do it?
live in the rough world
without night-haunts, bones breaking
or a wide crying mouth?
( Read more... )

The Imperfect Lover.

( Read more... )

Oh yes, I know the way to heaven was easy.
We found the little kingdom of our passion
That all can share who walk the road of lovers.
In wild and secret happiness we stumbled;
And gods and demons clamoured in our senses.

But I’ve grown thoughtful now. And you have lost
Your early-morning freshness of surprise
At being so utterly mine: you’ve learned to fear
The gloomy, stricken places in my soul,
And the occasional ghosts that haunt my gaze.

You made me glad; ( Read more... )

One More

Because it is beautiful and true.

Where does this tenderness come from?

Where does this tenderness come from?
These are not the--first curls I
have stroked slowly--and lips I
have known are--darker than yours

as stars rise often and go out again
(where does this tenderness come from?)
so many eyes have risen and died out
in front of these eyes of mine.

and yet no such song have
I heard in the darkness of night before,
(where does this tenderness come from?):
here, on the ribs of the singer.

Where does this tenderness come from?
And what shall I do with it, young
sly singer, just passing by?
Your lashes are--longer than anyone's.

--Marina Tsvetaeva (Russian, 1892-1941)
(trans. Elaine Feinstein)