1

And what to him is a chilled fire,
To whom the parting is a trade!
With one wave it has been brought near,
Removed with yet another wave.

Would I not with a servile anger
After my dear with a crawl creep -
I, borne to term within the belly
Not of my mother but the sea!

Bite, my dear friend, just like an apple
The entire sphere of the earth!
Conversing with a swelling water,
With me however you converse.

Like virgin born upon this planet
Won't cross the arms swinging free -
Daughter, carried within the belly
Not of your mother but the sea!

No, our girls do not weep, do not
Write, do not wait for news, yet
No, once again I go out fishing
Without drag-net, without a net!

What power is in my singing -
I alone do not know, you see -
I, borne to term within the belly
Not of my mother but the sea.

Such is my estate: I give
And give - for a whole century!
I am breaking my chest as I'm breaking
The stones that on the shore do lie!

What I mumble on a court simple,
As though I'm an imprisoned queen -
I, borne to term in the belly
Not of my mother but the sea.

2

Yesterday you looked in my eyes,
And all things slant aside right now!
Yesterday you sat before birds
And now all larks turn into crows!

I'm dumb, and you are very smart,
You live, I'm stupefied, I hear.
O cry of women of all times:
"What have I done to you, my dear?!"

Tears are to her like water, blood -
Like water, washed in blood, in tears!
Don't wait for trial or mercy: love
Is stepmother, not Mom, it's clear.

Ships bear away the ones we love,
A white road them away does bear...
And stands the moan across all earth:
"What have I done to you, my dear?"

Yesterday you lay at my feet!
Compared to China! When both hands
You forced apart from fists to palms
Life fell out like a rusty cent!

At trial, as killer of a child
I stand - not dear, and full of fear.
And I will say to you in hell:
"What have I done to you, my dear?"

I'll ask the chair, I'll ask the bed:
"Why do I suffer and am poor?"
They answer "He has kissed - now break
Upon the wheel; now kiss one more."

To live he taught in fire itself,
He threw on icy steppes austere!
What did you, dear, do to me?
What have I done to you, my dear?

I know all - do not contradict!
Seeing anew - no more the lover!
Where love no longer does exist,
There Death the gardener comes over.

Itself - why shake the tree? In time
Ripe apple falls itself right here.
For all, for all forgive me please,
What have I done to you, my dear!

By Marina Tsvetayeva
Translated from Russian by Ilya Shambat