John G Evans © 2019
Why dear Marina do I not recognize your pain?
Pain is a thing I am familiar with in all my strife.
I have ridden my demons upon their backs,
and made them my slaves,
rising and swelling upon each word lain
to paper and pen, to poeticize these inkwells of black, thus befriend –
your truths, in give [ing] up all other truths?
You, though a social rejection as you have stated to Teskova, why
must you leave it in the hands of critics, too?
We all have lived in exile through life, for it is in knowing the truth
for which we may write.
Your émigré milieu would have sufficed my darkest of nights
to write, and write, these one-line poetics’ delights.
Your gifts bestowed upon this poet of late,
for I discover in you a scholar of poetics as a century too late.
Why, in the inmost hour of the soul, I relate –
I shall study your work, thus knowing, I am belated,
the poet’s truth lay within the inmost hour of the soul,
and, it is here we must decide to carry our words
thus, distilled by their provident toils
into a new generation of the mystics,
and your writing of Sheol.
But, you dear one, have by now discovered a new thing –
So, tell me, to look into your Beloved’s eyes, what do you see?
You, looking back at yourself, and I looking at me –
Shall tell this tale upon me writing of thee.
R.I.P. Marina Tsvetaeva
NOTE: for myself to grasp an understanding of such a scholastic poet as Marine Tsvetaeva’s’ time I collected data from the following URL’s:
I plan to do more research via Marina’s books.
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