Boris Pasternak

(10 February 1890 - 30 May 1960 / Moscow)

Swifts (2) - Poem by Boris Pasternak

At twilight the swifts have no power,
to hold back that pale blue coolness.
It bursts from throats, a clamour
an outpour that can’t grow less.

The swifts have no way, high
up there, overhead, of restraining
their clarion cries: ‘O, triumph,
see, see, how the earth’s receding!’

Like steam from a boiling kettle,
the furious flow rushes by –
‘See, see – no space for the earth
between the ravine and the sky.’


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Poem Submitted: Saturday, April 3, 2010



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