Marina Tsvetaeva Poems about Moscow (1916) 1 Clouds - all around, Cupolas - around, Over all Moscow Many arms are wound!- I am lifting you, my best burden you Oh my little tree Flying weightlessly! In this wonder-town, In this peaceful town, Where if I were dead I'd be happy one, To be king for you, and to grieve for you, A wreath to take on, Oh my one firstborn! You to Sacrament bow Do not blacken brows And all forty - count - Forty churches now. You with steps do walk - with a young one's walk - All the many thrills Of the seven hills. Time will come for you: And the daughters - too You will give Moscow With sweet sorrow. My sleep by my will, like a ringing bell, Early dawns above - On the Vagankov. 2 From my hands - not a hand-created town, My gorgeous brother, my strange one. Upon the church - Forty times forty, side by side, And pigeons that above them glide.
And Spassky - with flowers - gate, Where Orthodox Believer doffs his hat. The starry belltower - haven from sin - Where from the people's kisses floor is clean. Incomparable five-cathedral round Accept, my ancient and inspired friend. To Unexpected Joy in the garden I'll lead my guest from foreign land. The sleepless bells will ring, will shine The cupolas of gold very fine, And a cloth will be dropped by Mother of God Upon you from the purple clouds. And you will get up, full of divine power.. And you won't repent that you were my lover. 3 Past the towers at night We are rushed by squares. Oh, how roar of soldiers In the night instills fear! Rumble, loud heart! Kiss with passion, love! This roar is so bestial! Daring - oh - is blood! My mouth is aflame, Given that sight's divine. Like a golden chest Iverskaya does shine. You stop picking quarrels And a candle light, That it won't be now With you as I'd like.
4 The day will come - a sad day, they say! They'll finish ruling, finish crying, burn away - Chilled with the others' nickels all the same - My eyes, moveable like the flame. And - like a double as his double he does sense - The likeness will appear through light face. O, I at last will merit thee, A gorgeous belt of beauty! And from afar - do I envy thee? - Will pull, absently christening, A pilgrimage along the road black To my hand, which I surely won't draw back, To my hand, on which the ban no longer sits, To my hand, that no more exists. Your kisses, O the living ones, I won't oppose at first - not one. The majesty's shawl beautiful Has shrouded me from head to heel. Nothing will make me blush, today I have a holy Easter day. Along the streets of left-alone Moscow I will drive forth, and you will slowly go. And none will lag behind along the road, And on coffin's roof will thunder the first stone - And sleep, self-loving and lonely Will be resolved finally. And nothing will be needed to Marina Our newly-introduced ballerina. 5 Above the city Peter cursed to hell Rolled the delirious thunder of the bells. Turned over thundering the high tide of the sea Above the woman that was rebuked by thee. To Peter and to you, O Tsar, praise be! But bells are higher still than both of ye. While they are ringing still out of the blue -
Indisputable, Moscow's primogeniture. And sixteen hundred churches, near and far All laugh at puny hubris of the tsars. 6 The rain of bells drizzles above The blue of near-moscow groves. Blind men wander the Kaluga road - Beautiful - Kaluga - song, and the same Washes and washes the names Of peaceful wanderers, in darkness of ones praising God. And I think at these times: Someday I Of you, friends, and you, enemies, having tired, And of compliance of Russian word - A silver cross on my chest I will don Cross myself and quietly go along The old Kaluga road. 7 Seven hills - just like seven bells! Belltowers on the seven bells. Sixteen hundred of them, to count them all. Full of bells are these Moscow's seven hills! In the ringing, fine-gold day of John The Baptist was born. House like gingerbread, And around a hedge, and around a hedge, And the churches there stand with golden heads. And as nuns were pouring to dining hall, The first ringing I did love, I did love And the sorceress from a neighbor's yard And hot sleep and noise in the stove. Do conduct me, all you imbecile, Thieving, flagellant Moscow crowd! Priest, shut my mouth more tightly still With the ringing-bell Moscow's ground!
8 Moscow - what a giant And strangely-mannered home! In Russia all are homeless. We all to you will come. A knife behind a boot-leg, A shoulder brand in shame. From far away us all You will call all the same. Upon the penal brandings, On every kind of ill - A baby Panteleimon We have, O man who heals, And there behind that door, Where all the people pour - There the fine golden heart Is burning of Iver. And "Halleluiah" pours Upon the fields grown tan. I kiss you in the bosom, O the Moscow land! 9 With a red brush The mountain-ash burned: The leaves were falling And I was born. Hundreds of belltowers Argued at least. It was the Saturday: John the Baptist. And in my teeth now I want to crush The hot ashberry's Bitter brush.