#I Burned at the Feast: Selected Poems of Arseny Tarkovsky

[majestativa]

The candle drips and drips. This is how you and I live— our souls flare, flesh disappears.

— Arseny Tarkovsky, I Burned at the Feast: Selected Poems of Arseny Tarkovsky, transl by Philip Metres and Dimitri Psurtsev, (2015)

[finita--la--commedia]

I am a candle. I burned at the feast. Gather my wax when morning arrives So that this page will prompt you How to be proud, and how to weep, How to give away the last third Of happiness, and to die with ease— And beneath a temporary roof To burn posthumously, like a word.

Arseny Tarkovsky (1907–1989), from “My sight, which was my power... “ (1977) in “I Burned at the Feast: Selected Poems of Arseny Tarkovsky, translated from the Russian by Philip Metres and Dimitri Psurtsev “Я свеча, я сгорел на пиру. Соберите мой воск поутру, И подскажет вам эта страница, Как вам плакать и чем вам гордиться, Как веселья последнюю треть Раздарить и легко умереть, И под сенью случайного крова Загореться посмертно, как слово.”

[kitchen-light]

She swears it will be forever but keeps the word never.

Arseny Tarkovsky, from his poem ‘Butterfly in the Hospital Orchard’, from the collection “I Burned at the Feast Selected Poems of Arseny Tarkovsky” (translated by Philip Metres and Dimitri Psurtsev)

[majestativa]

The wound of the world enfolded me.

— Arseny Tarkovsky, I Burned at the Feast: Selected Poems of Arseny Tarkovsky, transl by Philip Metres and Dimitri Psurtsev, (2015)

[majestativa]

My birthday’s come, and I’m drained of delight, gnawed by a secret, growing fear— what have I done with these years? My God, why have I squandered my life?

— Arseny Tarkovsky, I Burned at the Feast: Selected Poems of Arseny Tarkovsky, transl by Philip Metres and Dimitri Psurtsev, (2015)

[majestativa]

I am a candle. I burned at the feast. Gather my wax when morning arrives so that this page will remind you how to be proud and how to weep how [...] to burn posthumously, like a word.

— Arseny Tarkovsky, I Burned at the Feast: Selected Poems of Arseny Tarkovsky, transl by Philip Metres and Dimitri Psurtsev, (2015)

[majestativa]

A photograph of Arseny Tarkovsky, featured in I Burned at the Feast: Selected Poems of Arseny Tarkovsky, published in (2015)

[majestativa]

Enough, heart. Don’t lie.

— Arseny Tarkovsky, I Burned at the Feast: Selected Poems of Arseny Tarkovsky, transl by Philip Metres and Dimitri Psurtsev, (2015)

[majestativa]

The black pines mutter about their lack of peace— a mad lacrimal disorder seethes beneath their crust.

— Arseny Tarkovsky, I Burned at the Feast: Selected Poems of Arseny Tarkovsky, transl by Philip Metres and Dimitri Psurtsev, (2015)

[majestativa]

If you’re a poet [...] don’t describe too early battles or the trials of love. Refrain from prophecy, and don’t ask for the grave.

— Arseny Tarkovsky, I Burned at the Feast: Selected Poems of Arseny Tarkovsky, transl by Philip Metres and Dimitri Psurtsev, (2015)

[majestativa]

Do not disturb, don’t touch or threaten the wood’s wet quiet. Here, the old life breathes. Just listen.

— Arseny Tarkovsky, I Burned at the Feast: Selected Poems of Arseny Tarkovsky, transl by Philip Metres and Dimitri Psurtsev, (2015)

[majestativa]

The heart is pierced, always, with a needle thought— how to fit the sky.

— Arseny Tarkovsky, I Burned at the Feast: Selected Poems of Arseny Tarkovsky, transl by Philip Metres and Dimitri Psurtsev, (2015)

[majestativa]

I lay [...] in my own blood, outside the future’s magnetic pull.

— Arseny Tarkovsky, I Burned at the Feast: Selected Poems of Arseny Tarkovsky, transl by Philip Metres and Dimitri Psurtsev, (2015)

[majestativa]

I try to break away like one condemned, but I cannot cross through this strangeness.

— Arseny Tarkovsky, I Burned at the Feast: Selected Poems of Arseny Tarkovsky, transl by Philip Metres and Dimitri Psurtsev, (2015)

[majestativa]

Behind us, fate followed like a madman with a razor in his hand.

— Arseny Tarkovsky, I Burned at the Feast: Selected Poems of Arseny Tarkovsky, transl by Philip Metres and Dimitri Psurtsev, (2015)

[majestativa]

While in the crystal sphere, rivers pulsed, mountains smoked, seas dawned, and in your palm you held that crystal; your bed was a throne; and—my God—you were mine.

— Arseny Tarkovsky, I Burned at the Feast: Selected Poems of Arseny Tarkovsky, transl by Philip Metres and Dimitri Psurtsev, (2015)