An Attempt at Jealousy
Marina Tsvetaeva

How is your life with that other one?

Simpler, is it? A stroke of the oars

and a long coastline—

and the memory of me

is soon a drifting island

(not in—the ocean—in the air!)

Souls—you will be sisters—

sisters, not lovers.

How is your life with an ordinary

woman? Without the god inside her?

The queen supplanted—

How do you breathe now?

Flinch, waking up?

What do you do, poor man?

"Hysterics and interruptions—

enough! I'll rent my own house!"

How is your life with that other,

you, my own.

Is the breakfast egg boiled?

(If you get sick, don't blame me!)

How is it living with a postcard?

You who stood on Sinai.

How's your life with a tourist

on Earth? Her rib (do you love her?)

—to your liking?

Is it life? Do you cough?

Do you hum to drown out the mice in your mind?

How do you live with cheap goods: is the market rising?

How's kissing plaster-dust?

Are you bored with her new body?

How's it going, with an earthly woman,

with no sixth sense?

                                       Are you happy?

No? In a shallow pit—how is your life,

my beloved. Hard as mine

with another man.

1924

Translated by Ilya Kaminsky and Jean Valentine

________________________________________________

An Attempt at Jealousy

Marina Tsvetaeva

How is your life with another, —

Simpler, huh? — The stroke of an oar! —

Like the receding shoreline

The memory of me

Has gone quickly, me, a floating island

(In the sky — not on the water!)

Souls, souls! You should be sisters,

Not mistresses!

How is your life with a common

Woman? Without deities?

Since you overthrew Her Majesty

(Having yourself stepped down from the throne),

How is your life — busy —

Hemming and hawing? Getting up — how?

How do you cope, pauper,

With the customs duty of immortal triviality?

"Enough of convulsions and trembling —

Enough! I'll rent myself a house!"

How is your life with just anyone —

My chosen one!

Is the food more suitable, tastier to eat?

When you are fed up — you have yourself to blame...

How is your life with an imitation —

You, who trampled over Mt. Sinai!

How's your life with another woman,

From this world? Loved — for being made from a rib?

Doesn't shame lash your brow

Like the rein of mighty Zeus?

How's your life — how's your health —

Still able? How's your singing — eh?

How do you cope, pauper, with the wound

of immortal conscience?

How's your life with market

goods? Is the rent too steep?

After the marble of Carrara

How is your life with plaster

Dust? (God was sculpted

From rubble — and smashed into bits!)

How is your life with the one-thousandth one —

You, who knew Lillith!

Are you sated with the market's novelty?

Having grown cold to magic,

How is your life with an earthly 

Woman, without a sixth

Sense? Well, say there: are you mindlessly happy?

No? In an abyss without depth —

How is your life, my dear? Is it any harder,

Or is it the same as for me with another?

19 November 1924

Translated by Michael M. Naydan and Slava I. Yastremski

________________________________________________

An Attempt at Jealousy

Marina Tsvetaeva

How is your life with the other one,

   simpler, isn't it? One        stroke of the oar

then a long coastline, and soon

   even the memory of me

will be a floating island

   (in the sky, not on the waters):

spirits, spirits, you will be

   sisters, and never lovers.

How is your life with an ordinary

   woman?        without godhead?

Now that your sovereign has

   been deposed (and you have stepped down).

How is your life? Are you fussing?

   flinching?, How        do you get up?

The tax of deathless vulgarity

   can you cope with it, poor man?

'Scenes and hysterics        I've had

   enough! I'll rent my own house!'

How is your life with the other one

   now, you that I chose for my own?

More to your taste, more delicious

   is it, your food? Don't moan if you sicken.

How is your life with an image

   you who walked on Sinai?

How is your life with a stranger

   from this world? Can you (be frank)

love her? Or do you        feel shame

   like Zeus' reins on your forehead?

How is your life? Are you

   healthy? How do your         sing?

How do you deal with the pain

   of an undying conscience, poor man?

How is your life with a piece of market

   stuff, at a steep price.

After Carrara marble,

   how is your life with the dust of

plaster now? (God was hewn from 

   stone, but he is smashed to bits.)

How do you live with one of a

   thousand women        after Lillith?

Sated with newness, are you?

   Now you are grown cold to magic,

how is your life with an 

   earthly woman, without a sixth 

sense? Tell me: are you happy?

   Not? In a shallow pit How is 

your life, my love. Is it as

   hard as mine with another man?

1924

Translated by Elaine Feinstein

________________________________________________

An Attempt at Jealousy

Marina Tsvetaeva

How is it living with another?
Simpler, no? A beat of the oar!
Has the memory grown farther,
Fading like a distant shore?

Think of me: a floating island,
Not in the sea — in the sky above.
Souls, our souls will be united
In sisterhood only, not in love.

How is it living with a common
Woman? Void of lofty things?
After razing your queen's throne
By refusing to be king.

How is life, in all its vanity?
Getting up? Fussing about?
In the market for profanity,
Pauper, are you all tapped out?

"Sick of churning and of frothing!
I will rent myself a home."
How is living with a nothing
You, who used to be my own?

Is her cookery delightful?
Worry not, you will get by.
How is living with an idol
You, who trampled on Sinai!

How is living with a stranger?
With a local? Do you love her rib?
Doesn't shame, Zeus's avenger,
Lash your forehead, like a whip?

How is living? And your health?
How do you feel? How do you sing?
Does the sore of ageless impudence
Ever bother you, poor thing?

How is the market for your marvel?
Are the taxes hard to take?
Having trashed Carrara marbles,
How is living with a fake

Made from plaster? (When a monolith
Of the god is smashed to bits!)
How is living with a millionth,
You, who have bedded Lillith?

Are you sated with her novelty?
Spurning the divine distichs,
How is living with an earthly
Woman? Without a sixth

Sense?
Think on it! Well, are you happy?
No? In a gully without depth,
How is life, my dear? As heavy
As for me with someone else?

19 November 1924

Translated by Leah Goldberger and Eugene Serebryany

It may be that a better way
to conquer time and world
is to pass and not to leave a trace—
to pass, and not to leave a shadow

on the walls...To be, but by denial:
to break both mirror and reflection.
To ride the Caucasus like Lermontov
and not to wake the rocks.

It may be that the better art
is with the hand of Bach
to leave the organ undisturbed—
to vanish, not to leave a cinder

for the urn...To be, but by deceit:
to strike yourself from latitudes.
To slip through time as through the sea
and not to break the waves.

Marina Tsvetaeva

Translated by Paul Schmidt

Ewigkeit
Jorge Luis Borges


Torne en mi boca el verso castellano
a decir lo que siempre está diciendo
desde el latin de Séneca: el horrendo
dictamen de que todo es del gusano.
Torne a cantar la pálida ceniza,
los fastos de la muerta y la victoria
de esa reina retórica que pisa
los estandartes de la vanagloria.

No así. Lo que mi barro ha bendecido
no lo voy a negar como un cobarde.
Sé que una cosa no hay. Es el olvido;
sé que en la eternidad perdura y arde
lo mucho y lo precioso que he perdido:
esa fragua, esa luna y esa tarde.

_____________________________________

Ewigkeit
Jorge Luis Borges


Turn on my tongue, O Spanish verse; confirm
Once more what Spanish verse has always said
Since Seneca's black Latin: speak your dread
Sentence that all is fodder for the worm.
Come, celebrate once more pale ash, pale dust,
The pomps of death and the triumphant crown
Of that bombastic queen who tramples down
The petty banners of pride and lust.

Enough of that. What things have blessed my clay
Let me not cravenly deny. The one 
Word of no meaning is Oblivion.
And havened in eternity, I know
My many precious losses burn and stay:
That forge, that night, that risen moon aglow.

Translated by Richard Wilbur

zo meen ik dat ook jij bent
Jan Hanlo


zoals de koelte 's nachts langs lelies
en langs rozen
als wit koraal en parels diep in zee
zoals wat schoon is rustig schuilt
maar straalt wanneer ik schouwen wil
zo meen ik dat ook jij bent

als melk
als leem
en 't bleke rood van vaal gesteent
of porselein
zoals wat ver is en gering
en lang vergeten voor het oud is

zoals een waskaars en een koekoek
en een oud boek en een glimlach
en wat onverwacht en zacht is en het eerste
en wat schuchter en verlangend en vrijgevig 
gaaf maar broos is
zo meen ik dat ook jij bent

Boomgaard
Rutger Kopland


Woorden weten van zichzelf niet waarvoor ze
gemaakt zijn — en zo is het met alles in de wereld
niets weet waarvoor het er is
en ook wij weten het niet

ik kijk door het raam de boomgaard in en zie hoe
woorden voor vogels, bomen, gras, voor wat er is daar
daar niets betekenen en ook de boomgaard zelf
heeft geen betekenis

in mijn hoofd zoekt iemand naar woorden voor
iets dat nog geen gevoel is en nog geen gedachte

en langzaam begin ik te voelen en te denken
dat ook de boomgaard daarnaar zoekt — dat wij
hetzelfde zoeken, de boomgaard en ik

La Lluvia Lente
Gabriela Mistral

Esta agua medrosa y triste,
como un niño que padece,

antes de tocar la tierra

desfallece.

Quieto el árbol, quieto el viento,

¡y en el silencio estupendo,

este fino llanto amargo

cayendo!

El cielo es como inmenso

corazón que se abre, amargo.

No llueve: es un sangrar lento

y largo.

Dento del hogar, los hombres

no sienten esta amargura,

este envío de agua triste

de la altura.

Este largo y fatigante

descender de aguas vencidas,

hacia la Tierra yacente

y transida.

Llueve...y como un chacal trágico

la noche acecha en la sierra.

¿Qué va a surgir, en la sombra,

de la Tierra?

¿Dormiréis, mientras afuera

cae, sufriendo, esta agua inerte,

esta agua letal, hermana

de la Muerte?

____________________________

Slow Rain

Gabriela Mistral

This timorous, sorrowful water

Like a child that suffers,

Before it touches the earth,

             Falls fainting.

The tree and the wind are quiet

And in the stupendous silence,

These clear and bitter tears

             Keep falling.

The sky is like an immense heart

Which opens bitterly.

It does not rain: it is bleeding, slowly,

             Abundantly.

Men indoors at the hearthstone

Feels none of this bitterness,

This gift of sorrowful water

             From above us.

This wide and weary descent

Of conquered waters

Toward the earth, reclining

             And exhausted.

The lifeless water is falling

As quietly as in a dream,

Like the slight creations

             Dreams are full of.

It rains…and like a tragic jackal

Night lies in wait in the mountains.

Out of the earth, in darkness,

             What will rise up?

And shall you sleep while, outside,

This sickly lifeless water of death

             Is falling?

Translated by H. R Hays