"librettos" poems
the neighbors would hate me
tween 11 and 6:00pm
when I sing we must of true detective stories
of unrequited love, death,
the stony stink of
the poverty of starvation
of body and soul,
the stuff that makes
the paper librettos
come alive,
but my lease reads:
The Renter is required to refrain from singing between the hours of 11:00pm and 6:00am.
Writing poetry is not only permissible, but encouraged.
Jan 11, 2014
Jan 11, 2014 at 10:15 AM UTC
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
Mar 20, 2020
Mar 20, 2020 at 1:25 AM UTC
Vera Pavlova: 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.
The rest of the time 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 the 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
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
God saw
it was good.
Adam saw
it was impressive.
Eve saw
it was improvable.
—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
Mar 20, 2020
Mar 20, 2020 at 2:37 AM UTC
I was awaken by the song
Playing on the radio
The librettos are familiar
To my ever longing soul
So I get an old photograph
Of us together
I put it on my chest
Close to my heart
As the melody pacifies the air
My soul sways again
Ah, it is always you, my love
The reason,
My joie de vivre
Mar 24, 2016
Mar 24, 2016 at 12:32 AM UTC
girl swirls dreams in her drink.
boy spills ink on the carpet.
they swing below an oak;
laugh and dream, kiss and consider.
their feet curl, intertwine,
touch along the fallen leaves.
in hands and time
is the condensation of what is said to be true love.
only they don’t know.
later that night;
they drink and cuss, they fight and ****
their feet curl, intertwine,
play at the end of the sheets.
they warm.
boy writes librettos,
girl reads them,
together they cook delicious dishes.
girl disappears into the distance,
one day.
& boy spirits away,
to the elephant burial grounds.
days,
months,
years later, they run into eachother on the streets
of a northwestern city.
smile mostly,
say not much.
boy has his poetry.
girl has her *******
May 8, 2014
May 8, 2014 at 5:34 PM UTC
As we stroll through the day
Staying out of each others way
Letting our dreams float away
Paying our bills with our pay
We habitually stay
Like a tune that won't go away
We are but players in our play
Desperately avoiding a fray
And words we'll regretfully say
But much to our dismay
Our lives are turning gray
And librettos have gone astray
Wanting someone to say
Love is here to stay
In this wonderful ballet
We must constantly survey
Lyrics to the song we play
Jun 2, 2013
Jun 2, 2013 at 12:31 AM UTC
what is it
that they have
that i don't
what is it
that makes
your heart sing
i would have you
humming lullabies
whistling show tunes
composing love songs
belting librettos
and still
they would not
be dedicated
to me
Apr 17, 2017
Apr 17, 2017 at 12:59 PM UTC