February Poem by Boris Pasternak
February
February. Take ink and weep,
write February as you’re sobbing,
while black Spring burns deep
through the slush and throbbing.
Take a cab. For a clutch of copecks,
through bell-towers’ and wheel noise,
go where the rain-storm’s din breaks,
greater than crying or ink employs.
Where rooks in thousands falling,
like charred pears from the skies,
drop down into puddles, bringing
cold grief to the depths of eyes.
Below, the black shows through,
and the wind’s furrowed with cries:
the more freely, the more truly
then, sobbing verse is realised.
Is anyone else floored by this excellence? Nice? Oh, far beyond nice. Let's strive for such greatness when we read the words penned by giants.
If anybody knows about winter in Siberia, it's Boris Pasternak. This verse is the best for me: Where rooks in thousands falling, like charred pears from the skies, drop down into puddles, bringing cold grief to the depths of eyes.
Awesome description of happenings in February and bleakness spread in the aftermath. Thanks for sharing.10 points.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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12/4/2024 2:55:20 AM # 1.0.0
Realised with the muse of nature. Thanks for sharing.