Prayer for Marina Tsbetaeva


You denied us everything, Lord, at least leave us one last consolation, give us another life, one last refuge where we can still endure the mania for things, the storms and dust of the wasteland, the darkness of the sun and the light of the stars, blind fate and poetry itself which clings to us. Like the Centaur’s tunic on Herakles’ flesh.


Translated from Greek by Richard Pierce