Ulyanovsk, Juli 2018
Anna. Ohne Titel
Eine Serie inspiriert von einem Gedicht von Boris Pasternak
Unapproachable, usually shy,
You are now like fire, all burning
Let me lock your unusual sight
In the poem of love I am saying.
Look, how perfectly changed with the lamp
Is the hovel, and wall, even window
Our figures are covered with shade
Which is gentle like night in the meadow.
You are sitting, your legs on the ottoman,
As the Turks used to sit on the sofa,
Just the same, is it darkness or light
You are looking as if you are so far.
You are dreaming and stringing the beads
It’s a handful that’s rolled on the dress,
And your smile is today very sad
And your talk and your mood are depressed.
Love — the word looks too vulgar today,
I will think of another alias.
The whole world, all the words just for you
I’ll rename to ruin the barriers
Can appearance sullen of yours
Show feelings so deeply are laying
And the light of your beautiful heart,
And the grief that your eyes are containing.