Speaking In Tongues
Scribbling In Voices

IVAN BUNIN

Translated by Maya Jouravel

Translation 1994-1998 by Maya Jouravel




LONELINESS

The rain and the wind and the murk
Over cold water desert of fall,
Here, life's interrupted till spring;
Till the spring, gardens barren and tall.
I'm alone in my cottage, it's dim
By the easel, with drafts from the rims.
The other day, you came to me,
But I feel you are bored with me now.
The somber day's over, it seemed
You've been there for me as my spouse.
Well, so long, I will somehow strife
To survive till the spring with no wife.
The clouds, again, have today
Returned, passing patch after patch.
Your footprints got smudged by the rain,
With water, are filled, by the porch.
And it hurts watching, lonely, the flare
Of the fall's evening vanishing glare.
I gasped to call after you fast:
Please come back, you're a part of me, dear;
As for women, there is no past
Once love ends, you're a stranger to her;
Well, I'll drink and let fire burn logs,
Would be splendid to get me a dog.

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