Сад

За этот ад,
За этот бред,
Пошли мне сад
На старость лет.

На старость лет,
На старость бед:
Рабочих ― лет,
Горбатых ― лет…

На старость лет
Собачьих ― клад:
Горячих лет ―
Прохладный сад…

Для беглеца
Мне сад пошли:
Без ни-лица,
Без ни-души!

Сад: ни шажка!
Сад: ни глазка!
Сад: ни смешка!
Сад: ни свистка!

Без ни-ушка
Мне сад пошли:
Без ни-душка!
Без ни-души!

Скажи: довольно муки ― на
Сад ― одинокий, как сама.
(Но около и Сам не стань!)
― Сад, одинокий, как ты Сам.

Такой мне сад на старость лет…
― Тот сад? А может быть ― тот свет?
На старость лет моих пошли ―
На отпущение души.

1 октября 1934

Марина Цветаева (1892–1941)

Garden

After this hell
After this misery
Send me a garden
In my aging years.

For my aging years
For my aging cares
For years of slog
For crooked years

For my aging years
A dog’s bone-stash
For scorching years —
A breezy patch…

For me the outcast!
Send down a garden:
That hasn’t a face
That hasn’t a soul!

Garden: no step-let
Garden: no eyelet!
Garden: no giggle!
Garden: no whistle!

Unwilling to hear
Send me a garden
That hasn’t a smell
That hasn’t a soul

Tell me: the torture is over — yes
The garden — lonely as myself.
(But don’t You dare come near me!)
— The garden is lonely as You Yourself.

Such a garden for my aging years…
— That garden? or perhaps — that world? —
For my aging years, bless me —
A garden and free my soul.

Marina Tsvetaeva
Translated by Subhash Jaireth

Garden

In place of this hell,
In place of this chaos
Make me a garden
For old-age years.

For old-age years,
For old-age anxiety,
Of drudge work – years,
Of crippled body – years …

For old-age years
doggedly hoarded,
passionless – years
A contentment garden …

For a refugee,
Make me a garden:
Where no-one knows me,
With no expectations!

This garden: no little thing!
No place to show off in,
No place for loud laughter
No place for exuberance

With nothing to listen for.
Bring me a garden:
With no-one to love!
With no expectations!

Tell me: no more torture – because
The garden is lonely, like me.
But you must not stand near by
The garden, also, is lonely, like you.

Such a garden for my old-age years …
–That garden? And perhaps – that world? –
For my old-age years, make it for me – Allow me to rest.

Marina Tsvetaeva
Translated by Sandra Renew

Garden

Instead of this torment
Instead of this misery
Bless me with a garden
for my grizzled years

For my feeble years
For old aged loss and grief
For the grind of labour
For my misshapen years

For my end of life
throw me a bone
for my fevered years
a plot cool and calm

For a cast out like me
Grant a humble plot
With no other being
With no heart or soul

A garden: no footsteps
A garden: none peep
A garden: no laugher
A garden: no birds

Where nothing is heard
Grant me a garden
With no floral fragrance
With no entity

Tell me: the torture is enough
The garden’s lonely, like yourself
But you’re not welcome . . . don’t come near
The garden is alone, like me

That garden’s for my final years
that garden or . . . that world to come
Bless me in my final years
For the salvation of my soul

Marina Tsvetaeva
Translated by Hazel Hall

Jardin

To cope with this underworld
you’ve sent me, and madness
Make it a garden
for the years that age

For the years that age
For the griefs I’ve to live through
The years of work coming
and the groanings in my back

For the years that age
Bone for that dog
For the hell-burnt years
A garden in the breeze

for their refugee
Bless me with a garden
and nobody there
A soulless place

Garden no one steps
in. Garden no one looks in
A laughterless garden
a no whistling there

Earless
Bless me with a garden
Nothing has a scent there
not a soul

Speak: you’ve tortured enough
A garden on its own
But don’t come near me here or there
Yes, he says, it’s as alone as me

That’s your garden for me and the years
I age. That. Or your paradise?
Bless me in the years that age
Deliver me from here

Marina Tsvetaeva
Translated by Paul Magee

Marina Tsvetaeva
Translated by