My Poetic Translation from Pasternak

English Poetic Renditions from Boris Pasternak, by Anna Polibina-Polansky

***

It swept about at all the earth,

To ridges-edges.

The candle met its firy birth,

In oathes-pledges.

As if the moth of heating nights

Fly to the fire,

The snowflakes committed fight,

By windows hired.

The snowstorm out of the clay,

Made circles-arrows.

The candle melted in dismay.

To stars, flew ferries.

To the enlighted mirrors bleak

There layed two shadows.

Crossed hands and lands, a doom to seek

The wall up patted.

There fell two boots, there chatter meek

Went down the cradle.

The wax did touch its way to seek -

In blindless battle.

The ways were lost in snowy mist,

So grey and flawless.

The candle followed to its gist,

Yet cool and solid.

The draft immaculate, acute,

Hot and seducted,

Took upside so, two wings in soot,

Crossed and reducted.

Oh February snowy mirth,

Oh ridges-edges.

Triumphant was the candle's birth,

Ornated hedges.

***

At everything I mean to go

Up to the core just.

In work, in search, in life that low,

In phrases corteous.

Up to the gist of days out leaked,

Up to the reason.

The rigid firmament I seek

Of aging seasons.

I snatch the thread of dark events,

So doomed and feeble.

I open the essence lent,

I catch the ribbon.

Oh if a destiny could stir

My dear hero!

Eight line, two stanzas, maybe four,

The tune engeared.

Of sinsm of fugitives, of pang,

Of missions darkened.

Of accidental loves and pranks,

Of elbows argent.

I would have drawn its firming law,

It's hard initial.

I have repeated her name's flaws,

Their snowy mission.

The verses would have served me elms,

And linden orchards.

In sifted grass, the rosy dells,

And mints, and birches...

Of folwarks, graveyards, parks and bends -

Schaupin put wonders.

Into etudes of his brisk hands,

His daring hunters.

Of the achieved triumph's notes

There lurked the torture.

The arrow is shut unknown -

Off its sweet fortune.

December 31, 2019; Moscow