The English Poetic Translation Out Of Marina Tsvetaeva, By Anna Polibina-Polansky Poem by Anna Polibina-Polansky

1. My domestic spirit bright,
Genius of parting.
Kindred inspirations hide.
Their heat, when artful.
2. The ascending sheen of stars,
To nowhere, is bending.
The forbidden fruit is darned
With your thread unending.
3. Attics are of empty bloom,
Doves are vain and idle.
Windy gasts all greet my gloom,
Their streams are vital.
4. Broods of doves make good, like thieves.
I yet seek my shrine now.
Oh my long, incessant grief,
Mary and Mariner!
Nov,1919, Moscow - tr-ed May,2022, Moscow