How Many Fell Into The Hole Poem by Vic Postnikov

How many fell into the hole
That gapes ahead!
The day will come when I dissolve
My own head!

All that was sung and loved and strove
Will grow cold -
My eyes of green, my voice of dove,
My hair of gold.

And life will seek its daily bread,
Its old routine,
And will proceed as if on earth
I'd never been!

As if I never was mischievous,
And never cried,
And never loved the evening hour
When embers died,

The violin and violent ramblings,
The village mirth,
So lively me, so realistic,
On merry earth!

Immoderate when plead to all,
A friend or foe -
Demanding credence, first of all,
And also - love,

Of night and day, and truths and lies,
I speak of plenty,
And also just because I'm sad,
And only 20,

Because for me - inevitably so -
Forgiveness matters -
For my excessive tenderness,
And independence,

For hurriedness of the affairs,
For truths I've had...
- Now, listen! You will love me
Because I'm dead.

- Marina Tsvetaeva,1913
Trans. Vic Postnikov,2012