Thursday, April 21, 2011

The Poetry of Yuri Zhivago - Boris Pasternak


I have died, but you are still among the living.
And the wind, keening and complaining,
Makes the country house and forest rock –
Not each pine by itself
But all the trees as one,
Together with the illimitable distance;
It makes them rock as the hulls of sailboats
Rock on the mirrorous waters of a boat basin.
And this the wind does not out of bravado
Or in a senseless rage,
But so that in its desolation
It may find words to fashion a lullaby for you.

Translated by Yakov Hornstein
“The Poems of Yuri Zhivago” from the novel, Doctor Zhivago
Boris Leonidovich Pasternak (1890-1960)

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