English Translations of Russian Poems by Vera Pavlova

Shattered

I shattered your heart;
now I limp through the shards
barefoot.
―Vera Pavlova, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Seasons

Winter―a beast.
Spring―a bud.
Summer―a bug.
Autumn―a bird.
Otherwise I'm a woman.
―Vera Pavlova, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Pygmalion

Immortalize me!
With your bare, warm palm
please sculpt and mold my malleable snow.
Polish me until I glow.
―Vera Pavlova, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Scales

Scales:
on the one hand joy;
on the other sorrow.
Sorrow is weightier;
therefore joy
elevates.
―Vera Pavlova, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Muse

A muse inspires when she arrives,
a wife when she departs,
a mistress when she’s absent.
Would you like me to manage all that simultaneously?
―Vera Pavlova, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Stone Wall

You, my dear, are my shielding stone:
to sing behind, or bash my head on.
―Vera Pavlova, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Fluttering

Remember me as I am this instant: abrupt and absent,
my words fluttering like moths trapped in a curtain.
―Vera Pavlova, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Flight

I have been dropped
and fell from such
immense heights
for so long that
perhaps I still
have enough
time to learn
how to
fly.
―Vera Pavlova, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

God saw
it was good.
Adam saw
it was impressive.
Eve saw
it was improvable.
—Vera Pavlova, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Three versions of Vera Pavlova's "tightrope" poem:

I test the tightrope,
balancing a child
in each arm.
―Vera Pavlova, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

I walk a tightrope,
balanced by a child
in each arm.
—Vera Pavlova, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

I test the tightrope,
balanced by a child
in each arm.
―Vera Pavlova, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Vera Pavlova is a Russian poet. Born in Moscow, she is a graduate of the Schnittke College of Music and the Gnessin Academy of Music, where she specialized in music history. She is the author of twenty collections of poetry, four opera librettos, and the lyrics to two cantatas. Her poetry has appeared in The New Yorker and other major literary publications. Keywords/Tags: Pavlova, Russian, translations, epigrams, woman, female, shards, seasons, scales, tightrope, child, arm, sorrow, joy, shattered, heart, broken, glass, limp, limping, barefoot, snow, sculpt, mold, polish

He bought her sandals.
The best ones she ever had.
They were hers and
she loved them.

She was the barefoot
kind of girl.

It came to her
that he had laid a path
for her to tread upon
by gifting her with shoes..

It was up to her
to take the first step.
And to keep walking.

On land
Across the sky
And through the mind.

Keep walking
until the time comes
to stand still again.

To take off the sandals
and feel grass underfoot.

Her restless feet,
take her somewhere;
where she can finally meet
the sky and the ocean.
For years she've been waiting;
barefoot wanderer longing for
sand and sea salt,
sunsets by the shore.

(noun)
--A dock in the sea at which boats may anchor

That's the definition Google gave
But if you ask me,
Google doesn't know ****

Because no matter how many pages
I've searched
Or links that I've clicked
Google can never tell me how many times
you've made me laugh
more genuinely
than I thought myself capable

No algorithm can pinpoint
how many hours we spent on that
front porch swing
covered by empty Barefoot bottles
letting our heels sink in awe
of the world we had in front of us

Trust me that no "I'm Feeling Lucky" button
could ever lead me up the steps of
that little apartment
where i learned that your
dollar store pasta,
simple as it may,
will always be my favorite

And may it
not by God or some invisible hand
be the reason i believe in fate

You.

Always my North Star,
together you and I make
a really ****** compass.
But then again we've never held
trust to anything but our guts
to tell us we are
heading in the right directions.

And so many directions we have taken,
to think all the conversations
we've held about
the places we'd end up
were just the billboards
we didn't know we were passing

Okay--maybe Google's definition wasn't so far off then.
You my friend are more than just a season
You are the life, and the warmth, and the beauty
of our favorite June night
even in the dead of winter
The fog on the windows of your house
are reminders of every breath that has escaped you, every
breath you'll never be able to catch
every breath you have stolen

Enough to heat a home.

So i know that no matter how rough the waters
or smooth my ocean's floor,
I, my lonely ship,
know I can always have a place to anchor

Marina.

I remember how the floor felt on my feet.
Cold and bare,
I walked the halls at night
for a warm glass of milk
before bed.
You were always up,
and surprised I was, too.
I liked your crooked nose
and your too-big teeth.
You taught me beauty -
how little it matters,
and how much of it there is.

I liked the way the floor felt those days,
cold against my bare feet.