Marina Tsvetaeva

The poems mine, created early, so
That I hadn't known, I'm a poet, yet
And dropped, as drops from fountains' flows,
As sparkles from jets,


As little imps, that suddenly braked through in
The dreamy sanctuary, where an incest roams,
The poems mine, about youth and ruin,
Unread my poems! 
        

Dispersed in shops and set in dusty foams,
Despised by readers, silent and forlorn,
As costly wines, my deeply buried poems
Will have their turn.


Translated by Yevgeny Bonver, April, 1994