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I Know The Truth
by Marina Tsvetaeva
loose translation by Michael R. Burch

I know the truth―abandon lesser truths!
There's no need for anyone living to struggle!
See? Evening falls, night quickly descends!
So why the useless disputes―generals, poets, lovers?

The wind is calming now; the earth is bathed in dew;
the stars' infernos will soon freeze in the heavens.
And soon we'll sleep together, under the earth,
we who never gave each other a moment's rest above it.


I Know The Truth (Alternate Ending)
by Marina Tsvetaeva
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

I know the truth―abandon lesser truths!
There's no need for anyone living to struggle!
See? Evening falls, night quickly descends!
So why the useless disputes―generals, poets, lovers?

The wind caresses the grasses; the earth gleams, damp with dew;
the stars' infernos will soon freeze in the heavens.
And soon we'll lie together under the earth,
we who were never united above it.


Poems about Moscow
by Marina Tsvetaeva
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Above the city Saint Peter once remanded to hell
now rolls the delirious thunder of the bells.

As the thundering high tide eventually reverses,
so, too, the woman who once bore your curses.

To you, O Great Peter, and you, O Great Tsar, I kneel!
And yet the bells above me continually peal.

And while they keep ringing out of the pure blue sky,
Moscow's eminence is something I can't deny...

though sixteen hundred churches, nearby and afar,
all gaily laugh at the hubris of the Tsars.

Moscow, what a vast
uncouth hostel of a home!
In Russia all are homeless
so all to you must come.

A knife stuck in each boot-top,
each back with its shameful brand,
we heard you from far away.
You called us: here we stand.

Because you branded us criminals
for every known kind of ill,
we seek the all-compassionate Saint,
the haloed one who heals.

And there behind that narrow door
where the uncouth rabble pour,
we seek the red-gold radiant heart
of Iver, who loved the poor.

Now, as "Halleluiah" floods
bright fields that blaze to the west,
O sacred Russian soil,
I kneel here to kiss your breast!


by Marina Tsvetaeva
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

In my enormous city it is night
as from my house I step beyond the light;
some people think I'm daughter, mistress, wife...
but I am like the blackest thought of night.

July's wind sweeps a way for me to stray
toward soft music faintly blowing, somewhere.
The wind may blow until bright dawn, new day,
but will my heart in its rib-cage really care?

Black poplars brushing windows filled with light...
strange leaves in hand... faint music from distant towers...
retracing my steps, there's nobody lagging behind...
This shadow called me? There's nobody here to find.

The lights are like golden beads on invisible threads...
the taste of dark night in my mouth is a bitter leaf...
O, free me from shackles of being myself by day!
Friends, please understand: I'm only a dreamlike belief.


Poems for Akhmatova
by Marina Tsvetaeva
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

You outshine everything, even the sun
at its zenith. The stars are yours!
If only I could sweep like the wind
through some unbarred door,
gratefully, to where you are...

to hesitantly stammer, suddenly shy,
lowering my eyes before you, my lovely mistress,
petulant, chastened, overcome by tears,
as a child sobs to receive forgiveness...


This gypsy passion of parting!
by Marina Tsvetaeva
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

This gypsy passion of parting!
We meet, and are ready for flight!
I rest my dazed head in my hands,
and think, staring into the night...

that no one, perusing our letters,
will ever understand the real depth
of just how sacrilegious we were,
which is to say we had faith,

in ourselves.


The Appointment
by Marina Tsvetaeva
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

I will be late for the appointed meeting.
When I arrive, my hair will be gray,
because I abused spring.
And your expectations were much too high!

I shall feel the effects of the bitter mercury for years.
(Ophelia tasted, but didn't spit out, the rue.)
I will trudge across mountains and deserts,
trampling souls and hands without flinching,

living on, as the earth continues
with blood in every thicket and creek.
But always Ophelia's pallid face will peer out
from between the grasses bordering each stream.

She took a swig of passion, only to fill her mouth
with silt. Like a shaft of light on metal,
I set my sights on you, highly. Much too high
in the sky, where I have appointed my dust its burial.


by Marina Tsvetaeva
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

The railway bed's steel-blue parallel tracks
are ruled out, neatly as musical staves.

Over them, people are transported
like possessed Pushkin creatures
whose song has been silenced.
See them: arriving, departing?

And yet they still linger,
the note of their pain remaining...
always rising higher than love, as the poles freeze
to the embankment, like Lot's wife transformed to salt, forever.

Despair has arranged my fate
as someone arranges a wedding;
then, like a voiceless Sappho
I must weep like a pain-wracked seamstress

with the mute lament of a marsh heron!
Then the departing train
will hoot above the sleepers
as its wheels slice them to ribbons.

In my eye the colors blur
to a glowing but meaningless red.
All young women, at times,
are tempted by such a bed!


Every Poem is a Child of Love
by Marina Tsvetaeva
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Every poem is a child of love,
A destitute ******* chick
A fledgling blown down from the heights above―
Left of its nest? Not a stick.
Each heart has its gulf and its bridge.
Each heart has its blessings and griefs.
Who is the father? A liege?
Maybe a liege, or a thief.

Keywords/Tags: Marina Tsvetaeva, Russia, Russian, translation, Akhmatova, Moscow, Tsar, poet, poetess, poets, poetry, lovers, generals, truth, earth, stars, life, death, grave
Karijinbba Apr 21
Wuhan at war isn't culprit
it produced market to the world
can't risk economic turmoil and death
one million cell phones disactivated
850 thousand were land line phones,
in one month in Wuhan.
All by virulent cytokin lung storms.
scapegoated trashed ruined
can't weight justice on the world scale
now being sued!
Cytokin lung virulent storm mystery.

Protecting few lives with secrets.
At what price do secrets hide?
Virus deployers culprits
hide in plain sight
Russia Germany smile holding hands
neither their citizens wear masks.

Can virus prevent ****** promiscuity?
Dettering general criminal activity?
Is face coverings protecting or
complicating human inter relationships!
who will our youth trust anywhere
to date to marry procreation came to an abrupt holt system is being changed!
dating inter-marrying difficult.

Millions locked up deprived of vital costitutional rights 20 million unemployed out of 300 million Americans why 12% infected
what's infecting some not all?
Ist it food? meat medications?
which ones do seniors use??
Socializing came to a virulent holt
creating mental economical delema
can't last any longer without sunshine
lab created virus unleashed
to change Earth's system!
but by who? who? who?
synester plot benefitting
who how when and why?
changing system
from what to what?

Somethings just doesn't add on why oh
why a virus?
fear is the effect of what evil deed? by whom?
Scientists have mapped key elements of a severe immune overreaction -— a “cytokine storm” that can both sicken and **** patients who are infected with certain strains of flu virus. A cytokine storm is an overproduction of immune cells and their activating compounds (cytokines), which, in a flu infection, is often associated with a surge of activated immune cells into the lungs. The resulting lung inflammation and fluid buildup can lead to respiratory distress and can be contaminated by a secondary bacterial pneumonia -
often enhancing the mortality in some patients whose blood seems to aglutinate
as if invaded by a different blood type?
Insomnia, Insomnia, I really hate ya
you make me wanna call a terrorist
So he can blow you up after shouting Allah
hell yeah, America
It's either that or call Russia and China
so together they can obliterate ya
You understand, yeah?
how about the secret weapon
A secret weapon where I call up Yoda
so he can slice ya, yeah?
Insomnia, Insomnia, goodbye
I really really hated ya.
Created by me on January 10th, 2020
Nah, Insomnia isn't so bad. if I didn't have it, then I wouldn't be posting all my poems. Insomnia, Insomnia, I really really like ya. but not that much....
Я вас любил ("I Loved You")
by Alexander Sergeyevich Pushkin
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

I loved you ... perhaps I love you still ...
perhaps for a while such emotions may remain.
But please don’t let my feelings trouble you;
I do not wish to cause you further pain.

I loved you ... thus the hopelessness I knew ...
The jealousy, the diffidence, the pain
resulted in two hearts so wholly true
the gods might grant us leave to love again.

Keywords/Tags: Russia, Russian, Alexander Sergeyevich Pushkin, modern English translation, regret, remorse
ScribeMeAName Feb 17
Candles are lit.
The family gathered.
The son brought downstairs, eyes covered.

Make a wish my son.
I wish..
I wish, the Russians were gone.

Confused? This is not birthday party.
This is Russian airstrikes dropped down daily.

Syria is my home.
A tyrant on the throne..
I'm not Syrian, but as a human my heart breaks for those in Syria, Yemen and all across the middle east, lives ruined by these wars.
Svetlana, do you too
have problem dreams too?
wake up at night
waiting for a knock
on the door
and who may come?

Jews on the floor
below ours
in the middle of the night:
arrested I'm afraid.

She often spoke to me
on the stairs,
but one is careful
who you are talking to;
she had beautiful eyes;
sadness lived there
looking obsessively
as a reflected self.

Live and love,
as long as we can;
there maybe no chance
outside today.
Mark Toney Oct 2019
Boris and Natasha's minds were awhirl
As the Russia probe facts did unfurl
Let's end the confusion
There was no collusion
Was fake news of moose and of squirrel
7/22/2018 - Poetry form: Limerick - Inspired by Rocky and Bullwinkle and Fractured Fairy Tales. - Copyright © Mark Toney | Year Posted 2018
Mark Sep 2019
We were ordered by military law

To elope, even before our boat had hit the shore

The bullets knocked us about, thats for sure

Dead cobbers scattered adrift, from the infantrys 1st corp

Now some mates from my own platoon, 1, 2, 3 now 4

Nobody should ever have to witness such gore

Did not matter if you were rich or poor

You were just a target, in this almighty war

If the politicians demanded, they would easily send more

Finally, the west encircled the mad beast, with a rambunctious roar

But they let the Reds go forth, who savaged all the women, like a wild boar

What was the main aim and what was the true meaning, deep down at its core, for this unholy friggin’ war?
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