Translation:The Train of Life

The Train of Life There’s always a bayonet, snow, or storm – Eternally train will take me! I came where I had to: the dull platform No sense to repack so lately …

I had not the eyes for people – their bales – Resurge will my eyes when perish! It felt much the same: from lodgings stale To cheapest third-classy carriage!

With lukewarm chops and warmless cheeks … My soul, I would choose the gutter! Still better than here, with the filthy reeks Of everyday greasy clutter:

Hair-curlers, wet wrappers, Red-heated hair snappers, (Hair-burning knick-knackers!) And oilcloth tatters, Cologne-smelling dappers Big-happy-family joys (Like sewing ploys) ‘Where’s the coffee-pot, Royse?’ Pretzels and bed-sills and matrons and bacons The dreariest chaperones and chaplets

I will not in this bundle of female flesh Wait for my deathly doom! I want for the train to be drunk and rash – Death is no class’s boon!

For prowess, for rashness, for head-smashing crashness! – How the devils do bother! – And a God’s pilgrim saying: ‘In Kingdom come …’ I’ll yell, cutting in: ‘I’d rather!’



A platform. And rail-blocks. A lonely stalk In grasp of my hand. Let go, now Too late to hold on. Too tired of talk I look at the stars from low down

And through the rainbow of planets gone – Anyone tell how many? – I look and I see: the doom is done No sense to repent, not any

Поезд_жизни_(Цветаева)