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charcoal pencil on watercolor paper 50×70cm

Sergey Yesenin

  • *
    A Letter to The Woman
Yes, you remember,You certainly rememberThe way I listenedStanding at the wallAs you walked to and fro about the chamberReproving meWith bitter words and all.You saidThat it was time we"d parted,And that my reckless life,For you, was an ordeal,And it was time a new life you had startedWhile I was fatedTo go rolling downhill.My love!You didn"t care for me, no doubt.You weren"t aware of the fact that IWas like a ruined horse, amidst the crowd,Spurred by a dashing rider, flashing by.You didn"t knowThat I was all a-smoke,And in my life, turned wholly upside-down ,I was in misery, downhearted, broke,Because I didn"t see which way we were bound.When face to faceWe cannot see the face.We should step back for better observation.For when the ocean boils and wailsThe ship is in a sorry situation.The world is but a ship!But all at once,Someone, in search of better life and glory,Has turned it, gracefully, taking his chance,Into the hub of storm and flurry.Well, which of usOn board a mighty boatHas never brawled nor barfed nor fallen down?There are not many of them that will notDespair when they"re about to drown.Me, too,To loud hue and cry,But knowing well what I was doingWent down to the hold where IMight keep away from scenes of spewing.“Hold” was a Russian pubWhere IDrank, listening to the loud bicker,I tried to stop my worries byJust drowning myself in liquor.My love!I worried you, oh my!Your tired eyes revealed dejection,I didn"t hide from you that IHad spent my life in altercation.You didn"t knowThat I was all a-smoke,And in my life, turned wholly upside-down,I was in misery, downhearted, broke,Because I didn"t seeWhich way we were bound.

I do not regret, and I do not shed tears,All, like haze off apple-trees, must pass.Turning gold, I"m fading, it appears,I will not be young again, alas.Having got to know the touch of coolnessI will not feel, as before, so good.And the land of birch trees, – oh my goodness!-Cannot make me wander barefoot.Vagrant"s spirit! You do not so oftenStir the fire of my lips these days.Oh my freshness, that begins to soften!Oh my lost emotions, vehement gaze!Presently I do not feel a yearning,Oh, my life! Have I been sleeping fast?Well, it feels like early in the morningOn a rosy horse I"ve galloped past.We are all to perish, hoping for some favour,Copper leaves flow slowly down and sway…May you be redeemed and blessed for ever,You who came to bloom and pass away…1921

The golden birch-tree grove has fallen silentIts merry chatter having stopped afore,The cranes up there flying over, sullen,Have nobody to pity any more.Whom should they pity? Each is just a trotter.One comes and goes and leaves for good again.The moon and hempen bush above the waterRemember all those perished, filled with pain.I"m standing on the plain all on my own,The cranes, the wind is taking them away,I think about my boyhood which has flown,And I do not regret my bygones anyway.I don"t regret the days that I discarded,I don"t feel sorry for the lilac of my soul.The purple rowan burning in the gardenCan"t warm and comfort anyone at all.The rowan will maintain its coloration.The grass exposed to heat will not decease,I drop my words of sorrow and vexationThe way a tree drops quietly its leaves.And if some day the wind of time intendedTo rake them all up in a useless roll…You ought to say: the golden grove has endedIts lovely chatter in the prime of fall.1924

The Bitch
Translated by Daniel Weissbort

In the morning the bitch whelped
Seven reddish-brown puppies,
In the rye barn where a row
Of bast mats gleamed like gold.
Licking their pelts smooth,
And underneath her, the snow
Melted out in the heat.

But at dusk, when the hens
Were roosting on the perch,
There came the grim-faced master
Who stuffed the pups in a sack.

The bitch bounded alongside him,
Over the snow-deep fields,
And the icy surface of the water
Shuddered a long, long while.

And when at last she struggled home,
Licking the sweat from her sides,
To her the moon above the house
Seemed like one of the pups.

Whimpering loudly she gazed up
Limpidly into the dark,
While over the hill, the slender moon
Slid into the fields beyond.

And softly, as when someone,
Jesting, throws her a stone,
Her tears, like golden stars,
Trickled down into the snow.

1915

Comments

  • Michele Markley
    Michele Markleyabout 5 years ago

    I must thank you once again for introducing me to yet another wonderful Russian poet. You did such a wonderful job with the portrait.

  • thanks so much, Miki!

    – Anastasia Zabrodina

  • natayo
    natayoabout 5 years ago

    a beautiful portrait- from the melancholic weight of an unkind world madness sees it birth in the eyes

  • very well said, Fred! smart comment!

    – Anastasia Zabrodina

  • micarron
    micarronabout 5 years ago

    Wonderfully done. I really like the poetry you’re including.
    And hey, I added the in progress steps as you suggested (and a youtube video)

  • oh, cool! I will check the youtube and subscribe :-P

    – Anastasia Zabrodina

  • ok! no subscription! as i thought it was the video of you drawing!
    actually seen a couple of those on redbubble, very thrilling!

    – Anastasia Zabrodina

  • the song kicks ass! :-P

    – Anastasia Zabrodina

  • tkrosevear
    tkrosevearabout 5 years ago

    Gorgeous portrait Anastasia and the words…WOW ;) xoxox ♥

  • Thanks a lot, Tammy! good to hear from you! glad, you liked his poetry! :-)

    – Anastasia Zabrodina

  • Ellen van Deelen
    Ellen van Deelenabout 5 years ago

    A very beautiful drawing!!

  • thank you for the comments, Ellen!

    – Anastasia Zabrodina

  • JarodKane
    JarodKaneabout 5 years ago

    Wow you work is really strong.

  • Ella Meky
    Ella Mekyabout 5 years ago

    Very good portrait work!

  • Svetlana Sewell
    Svetlana Sewellabout 5 years ago

    Amazing work!

  • madvlad
    madvladabout 5 years ago

    wonderful drawing, lovely poem too

  • Richard  Tuvey
    Richard Tuveyalmost 5 years ago

    Your drawing ability is superb Anastasia, thank you also for the poem and I hope you are having a wonderful Christmas.

  • thank you, Richard! merry christmas to you! I celebrate it on the 7th of January! Best wishes!!!

    – Anastasia Zabrodina

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