I’m Nothing To You, I Mean Zero by Maria Petrovykh

I’m nothing to you, I mean zero.

I know, there’s nothing more to say.

And yet I love you still more dearly,

ecstatically and without mercy,

and like a drunk, I stumble, reel,

and loiter in a lightless alley,

insisting that I love you still –

no mercy, and ecstatically.

 

by Мария Сергеевна Петровых (Maria Sergeyevna Petrovykh)

(1959)

translated by Boris Dralyuk

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Spell [Extract] by Maria Petrovykh

I won’t give you up to death.

I will stand before her.

With my heart

I will shield

your heart.

If you see me

pale,

it is not from pain;

it is from joy

that you are invunerable.

 

by Мария Сергеевна Петровых (Maria Sergeyevna Petrovykh)

(1933)

translated by Robert Chandler

Words Lying Empty, Without Breathing by Maria Petrovykh

Words lying empty, without breathing –

that don’t know why they exist at all.

Words with no goal, words with no meaning,

that shelter no one from the cold

and haven’t fed a single soul.

Words of impotence – of the weak!

Words that don’t dare, too shy to speak.

They give no heat, they shed no light,

but, with an orphan’s grief, go mute,

not knowing they are mutilated.

 

by Мария Сергеевна Петровых (Maria Sergeyevna Petrovykh)

(1970s)

translated by Boris Dralyuk

Love Me. I Am Pitch Black by Maria Petrovykh

Love me. I am pitch black,

sinful, blind, confused.

But if not you, then who else

is going to love me? Face

to face, and fate to fate.

See how stars shine bright

in the dark sky. Love me

simply, simply, as day

loves night and night loves day.

You have no choice. I am

pure night, and you – pure light.

 

by Мария Сергеевна Петровых (Maria Sergeyevna Petrovykh)

(1942)

translated by Robert Chandler


A complete rendition though this version uses shorter, irregular, lines in its translation.

The Line Of The Horizon by Maria Petrovykh

It’s just how it is, it’s the way of the ages;

years pass away, and friends pass away

and you suddenly realize the world is changing

and the fire of your heart is fading away.

 

Once the horizon was sharp as a knife,

a clear frontier between different states,

but now low mist hangs over the earth –

and this gentle cloud is the mercy of fate.

 

Age, I suppose, with its losses and fears,

age that silently saps our strength,

has blurred with the mist of unspilt tears

that clear divide between life and death.

 

So many you loved are no longer with you,

yet you chat to them as you always did.

You forget they’re no longer among the living;

that clear frontier is now shrouded in mist.

 

The same sort of woodland, same sort of field –

you probably won’t even notice the day

you chance to wander across the border,

chatting to someone long passed away.

 

by Мария Сергеевна Петровых (Maria Sergeyevna Petrovykh)

(1957)

translated by Robert Chandler

March Saw Winter Gain In Strength by Maria Petrovykh

March saw winter gain in strength –

bitter cold and unrelenting storms.

In reckless fury, blinding spite,

the wind blew only from the north.

 

No hint of spring. Gripped by inertia,

the heart slips all too close to places

of no return: no self, no words,

mere apathy and voicelessness.

 

Who can bring back our sight, our hearing?

Who can retrace the way to hearth

and home now that all trace of home

is gone, wiped from the earth?

 

by Мария Сергеевна Петровых (Maria Sergeyevna Petrovykh)

(1955)

translated by Robert Chandler and Irina Mashinski


 

the final line could be considered a sceptical response to Khrushchev’s Thaw during the, relatively, liberal period after Stalin’s death.

Also it is quite timely considering the current UK weather where ‘the Beast for the East’ and Storm Emma are double teaming the British Isles.