Doctor Zhivago - Boris Pasternak [291]
Hoary and white.
A candle burned on the table,
A candle burned.
It blew at the candle from the corner,
And the heat of seduction
Raised up two wings like an angel,
Cruciform.
It snowed through all of February,
And time and again
A candle burned on the table,
A candle burned.
16
Separation
The man looks from the threshold,
Not recognizing his home.
Her departure was more like flight.
Havoc’s traces are everywhere.
All the rooms are in chaos.
The extent of the destruction
Escapes him because of his tears
And an attack of migraine.
Some humming in his ears since morning.
Is he conscious or dreaming?
And why does the thought of the sea
Keep coming to his mind?
When God’s world cannot be seen
Through the hoarfrost on the windows,
The hopelessness of anguish resembles
The waste of the sea twice over.
She was as dear to him
In her every feature
As the coast is near the sea
Along the line of breakers.
As waves drown the reeds
In the aftermath of a storm,
So her forms and features
Sank to the bottom of his soul.
In years of affliction, in times
Of unthinkable daily life,
She was thrown to him from the bottom
By the wave of destiny.
Amidst obstacles without number,
Past dangers in its way,
The wave bore her, bore her
And brought her right to him.
And now here is her departure,
A forced one, it may be.
Separation will devour them both,
Anguish will gnaw their bones.
And the man looks around him:
At the moment of leaving
She turned everything upside down,
Emptying the dresser drawers.
He wanders about and till nightfall
Keeps putting scattered scraps
Of fabric and pattern samples
Back into the drawer.
And pricking himself on a needle
Stuck into some sewing,
All at once he sees the whole of her
And quietly starts to weep.
17
Meeting
Snow will cover the roads,
It will heap up on the rooftops.
I’ll go out to stretch my legs:
You’re standing near the door.
Alone in a fall coat,
Without hat, without warm boots,
You’re fighting back agitation
And chewing the wet snow.
Trees and lattice fences
Go off into the murk.
Alone amidst the snowfall,
You stand at the corner.
Water runs from your kerchief
Down your sleeve to the cuff,
And drops of it like dewdrops
Sparkle in your hair.
And a flaxen strand
Illuminates: your face,
Your kerchief and your figure,
And that skimpy coat.
Snow moist on your lashes,
Anguish in your eyes,
And your entire aspect
Is formed of a single piece.
As if with iron dipped
In liquid antimony,
You have been engraved
Into my very heart.
And the meekness of those features
Is lodged in it forever,
And therefore it’s no matter
That the world’s hardhearted.
And therefore everything
On this snowy night is doubled,
And I can draw no boundary
Between myself and you.
But who are we, where from,
If of all these years
There remains only gossip,
And we’re no longer here?
18
The Star of the Nativity
It was winter.
Wind was blowing from the steppe.
And the infant was cold there in the grotto
On the slope of the hill.
He was warmed by the breathing of the ox.
Domestic animals
Stood about in the cave,
And a warm mist floated above the manger.
Shaking bed straw from their sheepskin capes
And grains of millet,
Shepherds on the cliff
Stood looking sleepily into the midnight distance.
Far off there was a snowy field and graveyard,
Fences, tombstones,
A shaft stuck in a snowdrift,
And the sky over the cemetery, full of stars.
And alongside them, unknown till then,
More bashful than an oil lamp
In a watchman’s window,
A star glittered on the way to Bethlehem.
It blazed like a haystack, quite apart
From heaven and God,
Like the gleam of arson,
Like a burning farm, a fire on a threshing floor.
It raised itself up like a flaming rick
Of straw and hay amidst
The entire universe,
Which took alarm at the sight of this new star.
A reddish glow spread out above it
And had a meaning,
And three stargazers