Translations by Rosalie Gant'07
Vera Pavlova's poetry translated by Rosalie Gant'07
279.
The poet gives his word with every word
And with each word, promises to keep it.
His word is like a stamp or signature.
He holds it like a ballerina holds
The point, twisting thirty-two Fouettés…
Don’t trust poets writing long lines,
The only purpose, putting in rhymes, etc!
299.
I try on my black in the morning,
deciding between two black blouses.
No matter how much you study to die,
you will never learn how to bury.
No matter how much you study to grieve,
you will never learn how to speak:
Please accept my condolences – and nod
if they begin to thank you.
332.
At five years old I learned to swim,
at five-and-a-half, to ice-skate
not yet knowing the river is memory -
oblivion, the frozen ice.
I became expert at both these things,
and truly, the game is worth the cost.
I can swim the Lethe by breaststroke,
Cross Cocytus on fine, Czech skates.
329.
A milk and honey river –
bread and butter banks.
A little man is borne
in a basket made of rushes.
In his palm a little coin
which pays for what’s ahead.
He, all in one moment,
sleeps, pisses, sucks,
whimpers and hurts,
tears with his gums his sugar-teat.
But the river gets shallow,
and the river disappears in the sand.
134.
Like any woman,
I’m bloodthirsty –
I thirst for a life,
but if it doesn’t work out –
I thirst for the ruin
of another’s home,
and if it doesn’t collapse,
I will nurse another’s man,
but if he disdains that,
I will stand at his window
looming over him.
167.
I will write you letters
in which there won’t be one word
of coquetry, games, bravado,
flatteries, untruths, falseness,
complaints, impudence, rage,
philosophizing, self-deprecation…
I will write you letters
in which there won’t be one word.
160.
You don’t love me anymore?
Yes, I don’t love you.
No, I don’t love you.
If you don’t love me,
there’s no difference –
yes or no…s