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“Illness” by Boris Pasternak 🇷🇺 (10 Feb 1890 – 30 May 1960)
Translated from the Russian by Theodore Weiss
At dusk you appear, a schoolgirl still,
a schoolgirl. Winter. The sunset a woodsman hacking
in the forest of hours. I lie back to wait for dusk.
At once were hallooing; back and forth we call.
​
But the night! A torture chamber, bustling hell.
Come—if anything could bring you!—see for yourself.
Night’s your flitting away, your engagement, wedding,
last proceedings of a hangman’s court against me.
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Do you remember that life, the flakes like doves
in flock thrusting their breasts against the howling
and, the tempest swirling them, fiendishly
dashed to the pavements?
​
You ran across the street, winds billowing under us,
a flying carpet—sleds, cries, crystals headlong!
For life, inspired by the blizzard, gushed
like blood into a crimson cloud.
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Do you remember that moment, the hawkers,
the tents, the jostling crowd, the coins a puppy’s
moist nose? Those bells, encumbered by snow,
do you remember their grumbling before the holidays?
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Alas. love. I must summon it all.
What can replace you? Pills? Patent medicines?
Frightened by my bottomless insomnia, sweat-soaked,
I look sideways from my pillow as with a horse’s eye.
​
At dusk you appear, still taking exams.
It’s recess: robins flutter, headaches, textbooks.
But at night how they clamor for thirst, how glaring
their eyes, the aspirins, the medicine bottles.