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.