MARBURG |
by
Boris Pasternak from 1915-1956 |
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I |
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..quivered. I flared up, and then was extinguished. | |
...I shook. I made a proposal – but late, | |
...........Too late. I was scared, and she had refused me. | |
...........I pity her tears, am more blessed than a saint. | |
...........I stepped into the square. I could be counted | |
...........Among the twice-born. Every leaf on the lime, | |
...........Every brick was alive, caring nothing for me, | |
...........And reared up to take leave for the last time. | |
...........The paving-stones glowed and the street's brow was swarthy. | |
...........From under their lids the cobbles looked grim, | |
...........Scowled up at the sky, and the wind like a boatman | |
...........Was rowing through limes. And each was an emblem. | |
...........Be that as it may, I avoided their glances, | |
...........Averted my gaze from their greeting or scowling. | |
...........I wanted no news of their getting and spending. | |
...........I had to get out, so as not to start howling. | |
...........The tiles were afloat, and an unblinking noon | |
...........Regarded the rooftops. And someone, somewhere | |
...........In Marburg, was whistling, at work on a crossbow, | |
...........And someone else dressing for the Trinity fair. | |
...........Devouring the clouds, the sand showed yellow, | |
...........A storm wind was rocking the bushes to and fro, | |
...........And the sky had congealed where it touched a sprig | |
...........Of woundwort that staunched its flow. | |
...........Like any rep Romeo hugging his tragedy, | |
...........I reeled through the city rehearsing you. | |
...........I carried you all that day, knew you by heart | |
...........From the comb in your hair to the foot in your shoe. | |
...........And when in your room I fell to my knees, | |
...........Embracing this mist, this perfection of frost | |
...........(How lovely you are!), this smothering turbulence, | |
...........What were you thinking? 'Be sensible!' Lost! | |
...........Here lived Martin Luther. The Brothers Grimm, there. | |
...........And all things remember and reach out to them: | |
...........The sharp-taloned roofs. The gravestones. The trees. | |
...........And each is alive. And each is an emblem. | |
...........I shall not go tomorrow. Refusal – | |
...........More final than parting. We're quits. All is clear. | |
...........And if I abandon the streetlamps, the banks – | |
...........Old pavingstones, what will become of me here? | |
...........The mist on all sides will unpack its bags, | |
...........In both windows will hang up a moon. | |
...........And melancholy will slide over the books | |
...........And settle with one on the ottoman. | |
...........Then why am I scared? Insomnia I know | |
...........Like grammar, by heart. I have grown used to that. | |
...........In line with the four square panes of my window | |
...........Dawn will lay out her diaphanous mat. | |
...........The nights now sit down to play chess with me | |
...........Where ivory moonlight chequers the floor. | |
...........It smells of acacia, the windows are open, | |
...........And passion, a grey witness, stands by the door. | |
...........The poplar is king. I play with insomnia. | |
...........The queen is a nightingale I can hear calling. | |
...........I reach for the nightingale. And the night wins. | |
...........The pieces make way for the white face on morning. | |
The greyness can be used to disseminate the more palliative nights of insomnia you are suffering. Diaphanous in itself, it can be seen as a requiem to or the more equidistant fulfillment of love, or as the end of a diasporadic journey.... | |