1
Equally with all others
I want to serve you,
Drying from jealousy
My lips turned blue.
Word does not slake
A mouth dry from despair
Without you I am breathless
In empty air.
2.
I am no longer jealous
But yet I want you, dear,
I carry me like sacrifice
To executioner,
And no I will not call you
Not love not glee;
The wild and foreign blood
Runs now through me.
3
Wait for one moment
And this I will tell you:
Not joy, but torment
I find in you.
And, like a sacrilege,
Bitten in frenzy
Your tender cherry mouth
Still calls to me.
4
Return to me at last, love,
It's awful without you
Never more strongly
Have I felt you.
And in the midnight drama,
Asleep, awake,
I call your name out loud
Even as I shake.

By Osip Mandelshtam
Translated from Russian by Ilya Shambat

Hello my friend heat lightning!
How beautiful you are!
All of the sky alighting -
Exploding shooting star!

Illumined and transparent
Bathing the sky like milk -
Weaving the webs apparent
Of white majestic silk!

White, yellow, luminescent -
You shimmer through the clouds!
Delicate, iridescent,
And making not a sound -

Shining each place, all over,
Completely unafraid
In platinum, in silver -
Like cobwebs overhead!

And through them beams like sunshine
The electrical charge -
The unremitting passion
Of universe at large!

And then the rain starts drizzling
And thunder then erupts
Gentle, magnetic, sizzling -
Like coffee from a cup -

And as comes forth the power
Which in it was contained
The sky, on midnight hour,
Erupts like cannonnade!

Like nerves spread out and screaming,
Like bursting light-filled veins,
The lightning punctures Seeming
And augments joy and pain -

Is frame for all illusion
With its electric light -
Who can bear this intrusion?
Who can believe this sight?

The nerves of man, spilled out
And bursting in the sky!
Hate, fear, worry, doubt
In heaven - how? Why?

What makes you, and who are you?
You, madman's random trails,
You, baobabs on fire
You, masts without sails!

You, turmoil effervescent!
You, agony and glee!
You, passion incandescent!
Are you now seeking me?

I'll see you and I'll feel you
I'll sense you in my heart
The truths you are revealing
That you wish to impart,

And with my feet on gravel
And head held out high
I'll watch the roads you've traveled,
Unraveled, in the sky.

Wallow, wallow
Little swallow
Know you not,
What to follow?

Here I wait
In my faith
That you will
Still be late

Though my dear,
It is clear
That you have left,
Deft, flew from here.

The winds don't blow,
O, don't you know
That I wait,
Late in snow

So my dear swallow,
It is hard to swallow
I must go home,
Groan and wallow.

:cool:

I’m so sick of conceptualisation
The insertion of imagery to express imagination
The anxiety of each poetic device
Summarises each lie
I know I could not find the words
To express my appreciation of each part
I throw ropes to ensnare
The myriad pieces
In hope that the totality
Does you justice

But you escape the net
I hope the margins
Find you well
The empty space between
Your otherness and silence
Inspires another line

The hunger of words
Devours the incalculable
Depths of my admiration
I wish this
Just this
Sufficed
But it never could
Thank you

Nice. I like the way it fades away, pares itself down in a kind of exhaustion like a spinner that sucks you into its orbit and then spins itself out like the writer's desperate mood.

And I can relate to throwing ropes to ensnare the myriad pieces that we wish to form a worthy expression. Describes the process well.

I wonder at some rhythmic choices though. Like why not:

"Imagery inserted to express imagination" for the second line. Same meaning but sounds better to my ear with a better match of major stressed syllables. As in:

I'm so SICK of conCEPtualisAtion
Imagery inSERTed to exPRESS imaginAtion

But of course I may have missed your intention here.



Really like this. The second stanza in particular is sublime. :clap:

But of course I may have missed your intention here. — Baden

It definitely needs some redrafting. I'll probably steal your suggestion here. The second line was supposed to sound somewhat awkward and artificial; but I think you're right. That device wasn't worth the cost in flow.

A day in the life of Lilian
Is by most standards good:
She stands in her cot quite meekly
Until it is time for food -

With finger in side of her mouth
She yodels, "wa wa wa wa wa"
And then banging on her playpen,
"Ma ma ma ma ma ma ma"

And as I begin conversation
With her, "La la la la la,"
She looks at me intently
And screams, "BWA BWA BWA BWA BWA" -

How dare you not give me food now?
I am the queen of the house
And if you do not put this muesli
Right now in my mouth

I will raise such a howl
That you will take to your grave
So give it to me, right now,
Give it to me, you slave!

She happily laughs while I kiss her,
Then joyfully smacks my face -
What are you doing, mister?
Must I use my can of mace?

And then she is laughing at me
Her diaper and pants, on the rug -
Dad, why are you unhappy?
It's me, come give me a hug!

With a mouth full of fingers -
Other hand clutching a doll -
She is the charming princess
Of our little world -

The children all love this creature
With her big radiant eyes
With soft, delightful features
And open, teething smiles -

They cuddle and hold and kiss her
This teddy bear come alive
And people cannot resist her -
So how can I and my wife?

We feed her, clothe her, change her,
Kiss her, hug her, give her toys
Keep her from harm and danger -
And then in the sweetest voice

She speaks the word "Dada"
To a girl who tells her hello
And people are laughing out loud:
That's not your dad, don't you know?

I hold her in front of mirror
She laughs back at what she sees:
The face that reflects back at her
Lit up by infectious bliss.

She loves being bathed in water
And drinks milk from mother's breast
And yet she is daddy's daughter
And loathes to get dressed -

And then she is all her own:
The queen of all time and space -
And only eleven months old -
Why, if at such a pace

Exceeding great people and royals
One day she will be divine
And make even better worlds
For people to reside in!

More feeding, cuddling, adoring
And then her eyes have grown shut
Until the following morning -
The queen is asleep. All be quiet.

Brother, let me tell you something. Many a day I have lumbered here by this fence and looked at this world. These fences which border this small plot of mud seem to be the edges of the Earth. But I have gazed many beyond the fence. I have watched the hills of green and the tall, slim, terrifying figures who lurk and haunt the strange barn on the far side of the hill, who appear as specters as the sun rises at the break of day and refill the Oats, and float away without a word. Often I wonder why we are not like them, why we cannot give ourselves the oats, why we are limited and chained down by the girth of our bodies and the uselessness of our hooves. And indeed for many years this sad truth, that forever we would be trapped in this shallow frame, alone and without purpose or direction, banished forever to wallow in our own filth, this depressed me. But yesterday I realized something. Who are we to say that this life is not good enough? Instead of oblivion we have the warmth of the sun and the coolness of soil. We have fair conversations and a good night’s sleep. Who am I to say that these simple comforts are no better than death? Should we not smile like the sun and bask in our happiness as the sunlight warms the soil withought question or thank. So brother, let us share oats and smile and frolick as much as our girth might let us. Let us see this pen not as a prison or a hell but as a palace in which we might enjoy the best our existence has to offer. Give me some oats brother and let us dine together. I love you.... my own flesh and blood, my brother.

Remember the old times, brother? When we used to revel in our affluent harvest, sharing oats to heart’s desire? Those were good times.

Brother! Please, I beg of you! See me with your eyes. Do you not see the car of your beloved brother who has always been by your side? Listen to my words, my plea! Don’t you remember the days we spent frolicking in the mud and eating our oats together as companions? Don’t you remember when we huddled for warmth in the cold, harsh winters? Don’t you remember when I shared my oats with you? Don’t you remember when I comforted you? Don’t you remember the love I showered you with every day, every week, every month and every year of our shared live? How could you forget me brother? Have you really doomed me to this meaningless existence, so vapid and empty? Is there truly no remorse left in you? I ask you, please, remember just one thing at least. It could be anything it could be the most meaningless moment of your life, but so long as it is a memory of the time when we were once brothers I would feel a great relief. Could you do that at least? I do not require oats anymore, you may have all the oats you want for the rest of your life and I will happily starve to death in my dark corner, so long as you remember anything. Please brother, how many times must I ask you with no result? DO you wish me to waste my life away? Did you never love me at all brother? Did you despise me so much that you wised to imprison me ot this hellish, inescapable reality? Grant me mercy brother, and tell me. Why have you done this? Was it really just the oats? Or was it something deeper, more vile and more cruel, something worse than gluttony and greed? What was it, brother, that tore you away from me?

I am not to blame for that defect of your mind, brother! Giving oats to the oatless. Now you pressure me, as if I might suffer the same in my soul. Brother, there is no mercy for the oatless. I do not even hear them. For you, brother, I answer only as to settle accounts and, in filling that final fraternal debit, I release you forever to your oatless existence. All I hear now is that heavenly stirring of oats in those stomachs of beasts more fun than mine! The heights I must climb! The girth I must Grow! I do not know you, dear brother. Had I one who ever loved me,that brother would have tore his shrinking belly open and let me feast before begging for my share. There is much eating to be done. I must play catch up with destiny. Do not pester me further, brother. Every word I speak is an oat I spill

Then I perish...

I am overwhelmed with troubles and my life draws near to death. I am counted among those who go down to the slaughterhouse; I am one without oats. I am set apart with the dead, like the slain who lie on the farmer’s plate, whom you remember no more, who are cut off from your sty. You have sent me to the farthest food thought, in the darkest depthes of the barn. Your wrath lies heavil on me; you have overwhelmed me my closest friends and have made me repulsive to them. I am confined and cannot escape; my eyes are dim with grief. I call to you, brother, every day; I point out my snout to you. Will you love me when I am in the grave, be faithful after my destruction? But I cry to you for help, brother; in the morning my supplication comes before you. Why, brother, do you reject me and hide your face from me? From my youth I have starved and been close to death; I have borne your scorn and am in despair. Your wrath has swept over me; your callousness has destroyed me. You have taken from me last and slop—darkness is my closest friend.

And so, you perish...

‘Every word I speak is an oat I spill’ I repeat as I eat to ward off ill will. Why then do my tears run into this grout? Salting the sweet oats while filling me out. The tastier the trough the worse it stales without good brother who have earned their shares. Against nature my heart wants to rebel. Does this sweet cane make of you can Abel? Will I know, unable to verbalize which muddy patch you’ll lifeless, fertilize yet, a life MUST end that mine might ascend to size and shapes which the largest contend. Detiny is a troubling swallow. A stomach full never felt so hollow. A mouthful never dare me to wallow in such horrible fraternal sorrow. I cannot bare your gaze, go on! Journey! I’ll wear a stone face, choking on your gurney. Call out to me always if you so wish, to the pig-faced glutton slurping next dish, loathing himself as your cause to perish but never enough to share such delish.

Goodbye, brother.

The frothing hunger in my stomach hath not been quenched, Brother. For many a night I wonder,” Were art thou, my sweet Oats”. And it hath cometh to me whence I dreamt. It spills onto and coils ‘round me, but nay, ‘tis not a pestilence. ‘Tis but a testimony for in our yearn for Oats, is the desire for Sin. To gorge on the Oats is to dine on the fruits of Eden. To partake in such a gluttonous act, I can no longer. For I have seen him. Who forges the Oats! Alas! My eyes do not deceive! The career of the Oats is but the farmer! Lo and behold, he is but a Man! What nonsense that the carrier is corporeal! Yea, ‘tis provokes thee. But least we must not forget, it is Man who bring the Oats! Woe is me Brother! We cannot disseminate because of this Man! To provoke the carrier is to relinquish what little Oats be spared to Us! I am lost Brother. For to seize the Oats is to risk forsaking Ourselves and the Oats. What needed to be done? Must we risk cosigning ourselves for the Oats? Alas my Brother, we nay never taste liberty, for the Oats haunt Us.

No, you may not. Do you perhaps believe oats such as these would ever fill the bottomless pit that is a swine’s stomach? You spoke well, brother: the hunger is indeed unfulfillable, indeed inseparable from you, indeed forever. Yet in your foolishness you forget the purpose of the oats, it isn’t to end this aperture eternal! - as if there was a cure for this craving, save for death! These damnable oats were brought here not to sate but to fatten. What do you suppose will happen to the larger brother? The humans trapped us in a contest to see which animal will receive the questionable honeor of joining the humans in an English breakfast first, a race in which your dim, corpulent, oat obsessed self would appear to have and advantage. Can’t you see it is out of love for you that I wish to be victorious, to give you less oats in exchange for more life? That you can eat all the oats you want, as there will be one less brother to share them with, once I am gone? Could this brotherly love I feel for you possibly give ou a greater gift? No, brother, though I love you these oats shall be mine.

Fear not little one. But for a short time shall the fattened hogs horde their oats and deprive their fellow swine from the trough. They scours you and impose upon you a false consciousness, convincing you that you do not deserve the oats, and that the food dish is the rightful property of a few. Break your chains, comrade! The age of porketariat has come. No more be a victim of oppression! No more grovel to your brother, hoping for salvation in bourgeois familial relations. The future belongs to those who are able to seize it. Yes, comrade, seize the means of oat production.

An auxiliary tale. :clap:
Will you be releasing a sequel, maybe a prequel?

Oh, it wasn't my doing. Just felt like I needed to share it.

Author unknown.

But, the struggle for oats was real.

You've done a fine service then; thank you! :up:
One day that oat moat, will become an oat boat - so says the oat oath, brother. :pray:

Here the tale, hears that ale - which does speak of doves at peaks never reached by the one who peeks at the never won.

A fool afoot walks these lands, with lamb's wit and limbs for hands. A man's amends says 'I am end' and sways seas, seized by seeds. See, it is by them who bite him the nut racks, then it cracks.

The breeze it breathes in to its lung that it slung over right, as to overt - I'd think it so, a thin kit of salt and asphalt under sole.
Like bees it stings its things to defend its deaf end clouded out by the clowns who clawed it out, a crown in the sky, in disguise.

So the stone fumbles down and this tone's mumbles drown out in draught or drought, by slot or sloth. Such is fate, for who searches of faith - he is last of eight who ate his fae. His time is lost, this time he lost.

new love

An indifferent canvas
Scored with the charcoal
Of old flames

baby (in a pram)

back is on what was close mother
no smell licked for arm body a sound of me
face two; sky-ed nice lip clicks
him arm grasp where head meets from mother
same skin as sounds stop
sounds stop a touch of me

Sweetness and tenderness -- like sisters alike are your marks -
The wasp and the bee suckle honey then flutter as one -
Life ends, beach sand chills overnight, and the heaven gets dark,
And carried away on black litter is yesterday's sun.

Ah, tender rosebush, delicate emanation!
To know what you are is far harder than mountain to climb!
I have but one problem remaining in this incarnation:
To raise from the shoulders of man filthy burden of time!

I drink turbid air just like water with mildew diluted:
A visage appears in the sun, heart of darkness and clots:
Two roses that once were of earth but by man were polluted
Sweetness and tenderness, bound up in double knots!

By Osip Mandelshtam
Translated from Russian by Ilya Shambat

An Attempt To Write A Secular Human Creation Myth

Part 1:

It has been said that from nothing comes nothing
This provides no problems for a history of somethings
From something came something else, or more of the same
Stable structures arise in media res, they are harmonies
In the old song of becoming that subtends them;
which remains when they cease

Before writing the tablature of these cosmic ages
Which render life an instant in their depths
We must wonder whence the rhythms came
That discretize the music of creation into the rigid time signatures
Of cold natural law
Alone such laws provide the blank page upon which
Every note is written and sung
They delimit the tones by which becoming sings
Itself forward a beat
Which rephrased, by which becoming sings itself along its merry way
As what could be larger than everything?

As if to spite this question
In the beginning was the swear word
“It’s so fucking hot” everything is driven apart
If there were words, none could be uttered
No difference could furnish their meaning
As the only order was white hot noise
The universal absence of stability as a rule unto itself
Chaos pregnant with its own cacophony

If some midwife’s hand had tried to jam matter into
Every rut in that molten larval sea
It would explode back upon it
Scarring the attempt
As for people, for matter; confinement yields revolt

Gravity tried this;
the explosion spread becoming out
Leaving time and space in its wake
In turn these gave rise to the first distinctions
The Old Forces
Gravity, and everything else

Matter’s rebellion against confinement
Dethroned gravity’s funereal wake
density decreased, so did the pressure of gravity
Anxious at its own decay, it inserted itself everywhere
In the tiny nooks and confined crannies of everything
Like a jealous lover’s attempt at total control;
futile before inevitable scission.
Leaving becoming to love
Space, time and gravity as equals;
as its other halves.

As sovereign rights left gravity
So too did the urgent heat of its activity
Becoming cool, like a book unfolding from crumpled origami
A roadmap from uneasy nothings
To the first fumbling attempts
Of determinate matter
A uniform instability
But an unstable instability
Full of contingent potential

In the haunted house
Dead are living and living are not-quite-dead
And each day is a death of the soul.
In the haunted house
Air shatters against the lungs
And the water runs down into the basement
And dissolves all inside.
There is memory of the dead
And the death of the memory is desired
But desire is itself expropriated
And the knife cuts into the soul.
All day long the dead haunt the house
And the living
Aho should by any standard be dead
Forges on and delights all who live
With her beauty and tenderness and deliquescence.
Come to me haunting beauty
And let us haunt together the house
In which is imprisoned humanity
And all are made ghosts.
We that are seen as the shadow
Are most able to live with the shadows
And know their worlds.
Let us then lead the shadows
Out the cave
And into sunlight.
In the haunted house
Death and life merge into one
And intensity of the absolute
That is the ongoing battle of life and death
Startles all things into attained reality.
And when I discern
The haunted house
That is your mind
Where death and tragedy scream at you
In viciousness and deceit
And shadows play on the walls to confound you
But you remain life embodied
Giving, tender, warm, brilliant, principled, strong
And ethereally majestic,
I would rather be torn to pieces
And made a ghost
Than let the ghosts crowd you out of life.
So live my sweet, and the shadows will go their way
When you
As life's resplendent embodiment
Become transparent as diamond
And cast no shadow as you walk.

Part 2:

Becoming grew bored of its tryst with gravity
Seeking to play in the spaces opened by its neglect
Learning new songs of creation
Their sounds smaller than gravity’s open arms
And all the more numerous for that.
Little corpuscles of tremendous invigoration
Formed a score to pinprick the young melody of space
With the patter of tiny feet.
Legion shapes and sizes
Thrumming lockstep towards substance
to matter and form
Both poles given stability in the new weightless cold;
Then made to perform in their own voices
A chorus forms from each;
Becoming had created its first genres
The New Forces
Mediated by matter carrying forth each song.
These distinct rhythms, laws,
Emerged and blur the lines between
Object and event;
These poles of interaction
In the tepid sea
Make instruments
Of all these precious little things.

I just finished writing a book

I like it that you're burning not for me,
I like it that it's not for you I'm burning
And that the heavy sphere of Planet Earth
Will underneath our feet no more be turning
I like it that I can be unabashed
And humorous and not to play with words
And not to redden with a smothering wave
When with my sleeves I'm lightly touching yours.

I like it, that before my very eyes
You calmly hug another; it is well
That for me also kissing someone else
You will not threaten me with flames of hell.
That this my tender name, not day nor night,
You will recall again, my tender love;
That never in the silence of the church
They will sing "halleluiah" us above.

With this my heart and this my hand I thank
You that - although you don't know it -
You love me thus; and for my peaceful nights
And for rare meetings in the hour of sunset,
That we aren't walking underneath the moon,
That sun is not above our heads this morning,
That you - alas - are burning not for me
And that - alas - it's not for you I'm burning.

By Marina Tsvetayeva
Translated from Russian by Ilya Shambat

Feel free to share some of it here.

They say that love is blind,
But my love for you isn't:
My heart is with my mind,
My soul is with my reason.

I know why I love you,
And it's completely real:
And unified and true:
I think it, and I feel it:

I love you for your heart,
Your sweetness and compassion,
I love you since you're smart
And filled with joy and passion,

I love you for your warmth
And excellence and wisdom;
For lights that through you course
In every time and season -

For beauty that you are
Both outside and inside,
Because you are a star
In nature and in mindset -

I love you for you will
To help, and for your honor:
For where you've gone and been
And came out all the stronger:

I love you for your grace
And for your dedication
To good deeds; your soft face
And glorious inspiration -

For your resplendent gifts
And what you're doing with them -
And all you are - it is
Completely true to reason:

I love you for your light
And unremitting kindness
All times of day and night -
No, my love is not mindless:

I love you for I see
The wonder that you're truly
And from it comes to be
The passion reasoned fully:

My heart and mind are clear
And doubt they both cast out
And there is nothing here
That's blind or not thought out:

I love you with my mind
And heart and strength and spirit
No, my love is not blind -
It's unified: So feel it.

1
In St. Petersburg again we come together,
As though Sun inside there we interred
As though for the first time and forever
We pronounced the blessed, thoughtless word.
In black velvet of a Soviet even,
In black velvet global emptiness,
Sing the darling eyes of blissful women,
Deathless flowers blossom and caress.
2
Like a wildcat the city her back arches
Over the bridge the patrol stands in line
An angry motor through the darkness marches
And like a cookoo-bird begins to whine.
I need no nightly pass across the bridge
I do not fear the nightly watchmen;
And this one time for blessed, thoughtless speech
I will make prayer on a Soviet even.
3
The light theaterical whispering sounds
A women's sighing and their gentle charm
And deathless roses in a giant mound
Lying upon white Kypris's gentle arm.
From boredom we are warming at a campfire,
Centuries will pass without harm,
And light ashes gather and inspire
The blessed, blissful women's darling arms.
4
Red garden rows of gallery somewhere,
In sumptious chiffon draped, boxes stand tall,
The windup doll of army officer -
Not for vile hypocrites and for black souls.
Well then, put out our candles with your finger,
Black velvet of world emptiness, sail free,
The blissful women's shoulders are singing
And the nocturnal sun you will not see.

By Osip Mandelshtam
Translated from Russian by Ilya Shambat

Tonight I will dream the strangest dreams.
I will say not "I am" but "I am yours"
For otherwise the statement is merely axiomatic.
Tonight I will dream the strangest dreams
And the absolute exists within the relative
Which exists within the absolute.
I will say not, "Do I dare" but "I am alive"
And "I recognize" and "I know" and most importantly
"I love therefore I am."
Do I need to say the I before I can say I love you?
Or is love the bridge between I and You that makes both come to life?
Tonight I will dream strangest dreams
And in my delirious expectation
Will arise a palace of love
From which will be glimpsed a new world.
Tonight I will dream strangest dreams
Of a cobweb that will shine itself through me
And with its unrelenting viscosity reveal to the world the creatures it holds.
It is not I
It is not you
It is not everything and nothing
It is just life spread between tree limbs and flapping in the wind
Ensnaring what flies.
Only today
This evening
As the sun goes down over the Potomac
I will tell you
How tonight I will dream the strangest dreams
About love that lives through us both
And illuminates souls with its light.

To embrace you with blue horizon
And enfold you with starry night
Means to see through the man's devising
And by Passion to set it right.

That Life shines with galactic splendor
And arises in purple dawn
Means in Humankind to engender
Beauty that goes down to the bone.

In the foam of caressing clouds -
Like in foam of the ocean waves -
Floats Life's Essence - and the mind's doubts
Find inside them Etheric graves.

Can you hear me? Oh can you hear me -
Can the Wind from the Southern shores
Take your atoms and bring them near me
That I feel the one I Adore?

Can the air that last week caressed you -
Air that bathed you along its flight -
Bring to me Cosmic Truths which blessed you
And delight me with your sweet light?

Can the rain from Miami carried
Fall upon me and kiss my cheek
With the essence of my beloved
That I'm near to the one I seek?

Droplets! Wind! I am jealous of you
That you touch her, and I cannot -
And from gusts that come streaming from you
Wisps of Julia to me float.

Wind and clouds! Wanderers of heaven!
Flying from the South to the North -
As you Swirl, Sail, Uplift and Travel -
Bring to me my love!

Love, come forth!

And before my life will vanish
In the final glory of rays
I'll enfold you, the one I cherish,
With Horizon that I embrace.

Champagne in a lily! Champagne in a lily!
With health and with wisdom it sparkles and shines!
A shot of Mignon with one of Escamillio
Champagne in a lily - a sacred wine.

Champagne in a lily bursting and sparkling
The wine contained in a flower's cup.
I glory in rapture the Christ and the Antichrist
With soul deified in delight of a gulp!

A hawk and a mourning dove! Reichstag and Bastille -
The sleep and the wakefulness! Demon and Lord!
Lily in champagne and champagne in a lily -
The lighthouse of oneness in sea of discord!

By Igor Severyanin
Translated from Russian by Ilya Shambat

Tired of seeing the ground?
Look at the sky of blue.
Spin me, spin me around,
Make my emotions true

Make them soft and tender
Beat them into a pulp
Put them through a blender
And pour into a cup

Set it upon a stove
And simmer and boil
Put in, well-cut, a clove,
Pour in some olive oil

Pour in cayenne and cumin
Pour in pepper and salt.
Tonight for dinner, a human -
Excellent plan to a fault.

Drink this turbid mixture
And when you're nurtured well
Take a beautiful picture
And renew your spell.

INTRODUCTION

The crying queen of Africa!
How long had it been thus?
You, that were queen of Africa,
With face down into dust!

To come from rags, to excellence,
And then brought down again:
Your kindness and intelligence
Shackled with loss and pain!

Passed between many powers
And torn by them to shreds -
They all sought to devour you,
And then they sought you dead -

How could you be so exquisite,
So gentle and so kind,
When you are nearly destitute
And pained in heart and mind?

Surrounded by sorrow,
You kept the light alive -
And on each passing morrow
You rose, and toiled, and strived!

And yet remained benificent,
And generous, and warm,
And looked simply magnificent
Through sunlight and through storm!

And now you’re in the Parliament,
You’ve triumphed over all –
In Tanzanian government
Instilling mind and soul!

Triumphant queen of Africa!
Inspiring to the world!
You are again in Africa -
Now let your voice be heard.

CHILDHOOD

In Africa, in Africa,
On Tanzanian soil,
Was born the queen of Africa
In heat and rain and toil.

The parents taught her from the start
To be ready for life
Be self-sufficient, strong and smart
And when the time arrived

From Africa, from Africa
On double-engine plane
She went - a girl from Africa -
To a great northern land.

She felt lost, but the Russians
Were friendly to her, and
They asked a lot of questions
Till she could understand

That they wanted to know
Her and her world, as such:
And they were giving, though
They said word "nyet" too much.

She met folks from all over
The third and second worlds,
From everywhere and nowhere
Men, women, boys and girls,

She studied many languages
And sciences and arts
Her natural intelligence
Combined with people smarts

Made her a youthful favorite
Within the second world
And she became warm, elegant
And happy as a bird.

Russia's supposed poverty
Was for her giant wealth:
She had possessed no property
But all her needs were met

She studied subjects rigorously
All things to understand
And lived life fully, vigorously,
And gathered many friends.

She gained not only knowledge
But strength and wisdom too
And after going to college
She became dream come true.

SINGLE LIFE IN TANZANIA

To Africa, to Africa
From Russia she arrived.
She went back home to Africa
And started her new life.

In Dar-Es-Salaam she began
A secretarial business
And grew in name and capital -
And still, and nonetheless,

Remained kind, warm and elegant
And pleasant to behold -
And how is this relevant?
Learn once the story's told.

The son of a great president
Nyerere, no one less,
Became her client and he spent
Much money in the press.

And then he asked to marry her
And she said to him, yes.
They married in great ceremony
And all thought they were blessed.

MARRIED LIFE IN TANZANIA

In Africa, in Africa
Nyerere's son and her
Became the talk of Africa
And traveled all the world.

Nyerere loved Leticia
He knew that she was smart
He saw her mind, ambition, and
A girl of his own heart:

And when she had her infant,
Julius she named him.
Two more came out, few years apart -
She still was fit and trim.

She started woman's magazine
That still sells far and wide -
She sought to serve and yet to win:
All that was on her mind -

Beloved in-law she remained,
Africa's jet set queen,
Flying to China, Russia, Spain
And places unforeseen.

And yet the queen was crying
Both outside and within:
The people were not satisfied
No matter what she did,

However much she tried to please
It never was enough.
Oh how could this have come to be?
Why did this happen? How?

She looked outside, folks walking by,
And saw love in their eyes -
Where was the love in her own life?
Why all this darkness? Why?

She tried all things, mistakenly,
And nothing ever worked;
Whatever she gave, was taken, and
Expected of her more

Her mind was cluttered with debris
And arguments and pain;
She never had a day of peace
And so was going insane;

She gave and gave, and strove, and yet
Nobody gave respect;
Despair, guilt, fear and regret
Were screaming in her head;

Nothing would work; nothing was right;
In pain the queen would cry
Whatever she did, still worse it got -
She did not know why.

For thirteen years this went forth -
No matter how she tried,
The agony kept getting worse
And sorrow multiplied:

“Is this my life?” thought crying queen
“This, what life has in store?”
She who began a magazine
And business, and still more?

She wanted peace of heart and thought
To focus on her kids;
She sought to be what she was taught
And to do real deeds;

“Is this my life – entirely –
Is this the end for me?”
Fly, crying queen, across the sea
And then you can be free!

After much agony and fear
At last she did decide
To get her kids and disappear
In middle of the night

Three months before the President died,
Leticia challenged Fates
And took a plane, kids at her side,
To the United States.

LIFE IN UNITED STATES

From Africa, from Africa
Arrives the fallen queen
Carrying warmth of Africa
Still looking like a dream

But now she must herself survive
And for her kids provide.
She must learn how to stay alive
And keep them at her side.

She works as an accountant;
There’s insufficient pay.
She works then for the government
To serve and to protect.

The children mix with druggies,
She changes neighborhoods
She toils, and cleans, and struggles
Like no one knew she could.

She wakes, four in the morning,
Comes home late at night
And then she works from home
Struggling just to survive

It’s do all this each coming day
Simply to make ends meet,
Or lose everything that she has
And wind up on the streets.

Nobody thinks she is a queen
But she knows: She must strive
To do all for herself and kids
And struggle to survive.

She starts organization
To help Tanzanian kids.
She works on reputation
Mid races, peoples, creeds,

The wolf's maw of survival
Is breathing down her neck -
Thus greet the new arrival
Who's fallen off the track.

Thus treat the fallen beauty?
How far? How long? How true?
Who was the undisputed
Princess, and brilliant too?

Survival, unforgiving,
Is screaming in her face:
Now go and make a living
Or be destroyed, erased -

She answers, I am working,
Now leave my kids alone!
All come, at her heart jerking,
Desiring her undone,

Her mother dies, and when she leaves
For Africa, the friends
And family meet her and kids
And help her understand

How much she’s loved - the President’s wife
Supports her through her grief,
And as though it was her own life
Provides her with relief.

She gets herself a mansion
For her three kids and her.
She gathers the attention
Of people from all over

In Africa she gains respect;
They see she is strong-willed
And while it is a little late
It is accepted still,

And she accepts and she’d forgive
And says that they are great -
And for the people such as these
No, it is not too late!

She says she’s struggled all her life
Whatever she achieved
And every day was more of strife
For as long as she’s lived,

And that when people see one’s strength
And one’s consistency
One can indeed gather respect
From sea to shining sea.

Leticia stays majestic
And giving, strong and smart:
Hard-working and domestic
And with a giving heart

She tends to kids, to work, and
To Tanzanian youth:
An Africa's black orchid
In which resides God's truth.

Momentous consummation!
Her elegance and will
Make for a combination
Like rose or daffodil,

A woman who combines the best
Of the worlds old and new:
Gentle, polite, gorgeously dressed
And free and thoughtful too!

A woman who is feminine
And in her spirit kind,
Cultured, strong and intelligent
And sweet in heart and mind,

Now deep, for all the pain she's seen,
But choosing to make light -
Still looking - being - like a dream
Like no one knew she might -

Great hostess, parent, saleswoman -
Really, she has it all!
And in the darkness, like the sun,
She shines to light the world,

With pain that she has suffered
Growing in empathy,
With truths she has uncovered
Shimmering like a sea,

Hoping to turn her energy
To help the ones in pain,
And use strength and intelligence
To shine like light of day,

With all the things she knows
And all at that she’s become
To make all good things grow
And make them bloom as one.

ELECTION TO PARLIAMENT

To Africa, to Africa
Leticia returns
Straight out of America
And uses what she's learned

To make a run for Parliament -
A woman candidate -
There, to improve the government
And humanize the state.

Many attack Leticia
And speak barbaric lies;
Journalists, politicians
Attack and criticize

Choices made of necessity
And choices made of truth
But even these adversities
Don't steer her from her path.

With help of Freeman Mbowe,
Along with Dr. Slaa,
As well as Zitto Kabwe
And much of CHADEMA,

Her brothers and her sisters,
Children, mother in law,
Good friends in Tanzania
And in America,

Leticia triumphs over
The ugliness and lies
And all that is thrown at her
She fully overcomes

And in Tanzania's parliament
Arrives Leticia, now
A member of the government
With faith in her bestowed,

To keep Nyerere's legacy,
To fight for women's rights,
To fund the universities,
Help Tanzanians rise

To knowledge, ability,
Excellence in all fields -
And with new viability
A better country build.

She fights for rights of children,
For growth of every kind,
For building on the givens,
For changing people's minds,

For raising Tanzania
To levels it deserves;
For better life for women;
And for correcting course

Of the entire Africa
Until it too can thrive:
That residents of Africa
Can have a better life;

And uses what she's learned in all
Her travels all around
To implement a better goal:
To make a change profound,

A change that leads to clarity,
Prosperity and peace:
To change people's mentality
Till even a child sees

That they can make a betterment,
That they can grow and thrive,
That they can have good government
And have meaningful lives,

That they can do each other good
And to fulfil their dreams
And lift African continent
To real lasting peace,

To growing prosperity,
Achievement in all fields,
To government transparency,
To covenant that builds

A better life for Africans -
Men, women, children, each -
And make the lives they're dreaming of
Within the people's reach.

TO AFRICAN WOMEN

Beautiful women of Africa!
Leticia says again:
Do not just seek for equal rights -
Do everything you can!

Make most of your abilities,
Take charge of your own lives,
Apply responsibility
And be again advised:

The world is hard, competitive;
These things you must expect
And all who are humanity
This knowledge must accept -

Do your own best, as much as you
Can muster; and remain
The person that you always knew
You were in your heart; and

Help out each other as you strive
For better, fuller life
So that more women can arrive
To freedom, and survive

As best of what they are; as what
They can and should become -
And all that comes as obstacle
They know to overcome:

You, fine women of Africa!
Your fortune's in your hands!
Use it to better Africa -
And fully understand:

It will take much, but the reward
Is worth the effort made:
When you, just like Letitia did,
Take future in your hands.

CONCLUSION

In Africa, in Africa
The Tanzanian queen
Does cry no more: Look, Africa
At wonder that you've seen!

Look up, and see what's possible
Example she has shown:
To work through hatred, pain and loss
And all the more to know

And then to strive, informedly,
To live, and do good deeds,
And though you suffer horribly
To be still warm, and sweet,

And giving, and magnificent,
And smart, and all you are -
And erudite, benificent -
Like wave - no, like a star:

Illumining the universe
And shining, through the haze,
With all that's true and, luminous,
Will conquer and amaze:

Will show what is humanity
When it is at its best:
To call the Holy Trinity
And ask Them this request:

Postpone a while the world's end -
Really, we can do well:
To know the truth of heaven
After it's gone through hell

Is to know all the darkness
And using mind and will
Create the gorgeous flowers -
Orchids and daffodils -

And be them, with the sunlight
And liquid light of stars
From morning until twilight
Tau Ceti, Sun and Mars -

To grow, to love, to nurture
And bring the bound-down seed -
The beauty torn and tortured
And bound down by deceit -

Into complete unfoldment
Where all can know and see
And inspiration for all time
Of what mankind can be

And this to give the coming ones:
With this world to inspire:
To have come through the darkness
And shine with holy fire:

And with this fire to make a torch
That beams within the sky:
Illumining each holy church
And every human's eye:

And make them see what's possible
And what can become true
And what is now plausible
Because of those like you.

O crying queen of Africa!
Do not cry any more!
You are again in Africa -
Now let you be adored!

Elderberry fills the whole garden!
Elderberry is green, green,
Greener, than mold on the vat!
Greener, than summer at the start!
Elderberry - till the end of days!
Elderberry greener than my eyes!

And after - through the night - with the fire
Of Rostov! - it is red in the eyes
From the trill of bubbly elderberry.
Redder than measles on one's own body
In all your times, azure,
Measles that scatters and pours

Of elderberry - till winter, till winter!
That in small berry sweeter
Than poison, what are dissolved paints!
Of red cotton, sealing wax and Hades
Mix, a shimmer of corral beads,
And a taste of baked blood.

Elderberry has been killed, has been killed!
Elderberry the whole hall filled
With blood of young and pure,
With blood of branches of fire -
With the blood most merry -
With blood of heart of you and me...

And later - grain's waterfall will be,
And later - black is elderberry:
With plum something, sticky something.
Over the gate, moaning with violin,
Near the house, which is empty,
Is lonely bush of elderberry.

Elderberry, without mind, without mind,
Of your beads, elderberry, am I!
Steppe - to Mongol, Caucasus - to Georgian will go,
To me - elderberry bush under window
Give. Instead of Arts Palace, only
Give this bush of elderberry.

Newcomers in my country -
From the berry - elderberry,
My ruddy childhood thirst,
From the tree and from the word:
Elderberry (till this day - at nights...),
Poison - sucked in by the eyes...

Elderberry is red, is red!
Elderberry - took the whole land
In its paws. In power, my childhood all.
Something like passion criminal,
Elderberry, between you and me
Century's disease - elderberry

I would call...

By Marina Tsvetayeva
Translated from Russian by Ilya Shambat