Marina Tsvetaeva
* * *
To all my poems so early written,
That I didn't know I was - a poet,
That sprung like sprays from a fountain,
Like sparks from rockets,
Like little devils they suddenly burst
In sanctuary with sleep and incense,
To all my poems of youth and death,
Unread since thence! -
And scattered in the dust of a shrine
(Where no one took and takes not some!)
To all my poems like precious wine
There time will come.
Марина Цветаева
* * *
Моим стихам, написанным так рано,
Что и не знала я, что я - поэт,
Сорвавшимся, как брызги из фонтана,
Как искры из ракет,
Ворвавшимся, как маленькие черти,
В святилище, где сон и фимиам,
Моим стихам о юности и смерти,
- Нечитанным стихам! -
Разбросанным в пыли по магазинам
(Где их никто не брал и не берет!) ,
Моим стихам, как драгоценным винам,
Настанет свой черед.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
That sprung like sprays from a fountain, Like sparks from rockets, .like little devils.. dust........ but the hope oneday i will be accepted as a poet or poetess. very nice idea dear friend. tony
Thank you ever so much, dear Dr.Tony Brahmin. It's very nice of you.