The river flowed like rain
Lying on its side,
And the rain fell like a vertical river.
And the bridge bobbed under like a float.
With the flood pouring over it.
It was like a sword slipping from someone’s grasp,
The water
Now shielding it, now withdrawing…
The rain finished what it had to say,
But all night the river
Carried on
Its watery talk.
Let’s call in on the night…
The burdock is soaked,
You can’t make it out in the dark, but you can touch it and recall
The prickly blue-green beaded leaf –
Eglantine reddening as though it has been bitten…
The garden
Whistles with freshness, like a thread tweaked from a canvas,
Lilac in checkerboard beds scents the air,
Jasmine glimmers palely in the mealy half-dark
Under the damp vague trees.
I shall go down to the river: has the bridge drowned yet?
Trees dispute in the dark.
Thousands of black leaves hobnob with the stars,
Like crowds of paper mannikins.
Black on black. High up in the darkness
They prance, dance, weave, fight,
Drink, tumble… But near the water
They part, like cards being dealt out.
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by Новелла Николаевна Матвеева (Novella Nikolayevna Matveyeva)
(1965)
translated by Daniel Weissbort
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Beneath is the original Russian Cyrillic version of the poem.
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Река текла как дождь, лежащий на боку…
Река текла как дождь, лежащий на боку,
А дождик шел, как речка в вертикали,
И мост подныривал подобно поплавку,
Когда струи по нем перетекали.
Казалось: из руки выскальзывает меч;
Волна то прятала настил, то обнажала…
Дождь высказался, смолк, но дождевую речь
Всю ночь река вела и продолжала.
Пойти проведать ночь? Лопух водой налит.
Во мгле не разглядишь, но тронешь и припомнишь
В зубцах и в капельках зелено-синий лист –
Прикушенно-алеющий шиповник…
Сад свищет свежестью, как нитка в полотне,
Сирень ноздрится в шахматных деленьях,
Жасмин белеется в мучнистой полутьме
Из-под сырых расплывчатых деревьев.
Сойду к реке: не захлебнулся ль мост?
Деревья пререкаются во мраке,
Тьмы черных листьев трутся между звезд,
Как толпы человечков из бумаги.
Из черной же. Высоко в темноте.
Они гарцуют, пляшут, шьют, дерутся,
Пьют, валятся с коней… Но в близости к воде
Расступятся, как карты разберутся.
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Extra information: Matveyeva was born on 7 October 1934 in Pushkin, Saint Petersburg (then Leningrad). She suffered the fate of so many war children and was brought up in children’s homes and, later, apparently spent much of her time in hospitals. She was a Russian bard, poet, writer, screenwriter, dramatist, and literary scientist. Novella was also the cousin of poet Ivan Matveyev (Elagin). Her first poetry collection, Lyrics, was published in 1961 which was the same year she was admitted to the Union of Soviet Writers. From the end of the 1950s on Matveyeva composed songs to her poetry and performed them, accompanying herself on a seven-string guitar. The element of fantasy and the dreamlike atmosphere of much of her poetry is unusual in the Soviet context. In 1998 Matveyeva received the Russian State Pushkin Prize in poetry, and in 2002, she received the Russian Federation State Prize in Literature and Arts for her poetry collection Jasmine. Matveyeva died on 4 September 2016 at the age of 81 in Moscow Oblast.
Rambling At The Bridge Head 