It has been a good while since we decided to broaden our forÂmat a litÂtle and introÂduce some new excitÂing series for our blog. So today we are introÂducÂing our Poetic TuesÂday: every TuesÂday we will (try to) post a remarkÂable Soviet poem, most probÂaÂbly on a fortÂnightly basis. This parÂticÂuÂlar poem, WinÂter Night by Nobel Prize for LitÂerÂaÂture of 1958, the author of DocÂtor Zhivago, Boris PasterÂnak has been hand picked to open this colÂlecÂtion. We thank Andrey Kneller for the transÂlaÂtion. The best way to enjoy it, we sugÂgest, is by clickÂing Read More.., then play the youtube video and when the words begin, read the poem. The video feaÂtures WinÂter Night read in RussÂian by Boris Vetrov, vioÂlin by Secret GarÂden. It is truly movÂing — we hope you enjoy it as much as we do. Thanks for being such a wonÂderÂful audiÂence — you are a pleaÂsure to write for.
The blizÂzards all across the earth
Have swept uncurbed
The canÂdle burned upon the desk
The canÂdle burned
As in the sumÂmer, moths are drawn
Towards the flame
The pale snowflakes soared
Towards the pane
Upon the glass, bright snowy rings
And streaks were churned
The canÂdle burned upon the desk
The canÂdle burned
On the illuÂmined ceilÂing
ShadÂows swayed
A cross of arms, a cross of legs
A cross of fate
Two boots fell down on the floor
With crashÂing sound
And from the crown tears of wax
Dripped on the gown
And nothÂing in the snowy haze
Could be disÂcerned
The canÂdle burned upon the desk
The canÂdle burned
A genÂtle draft blew on the flame,
And in tempÂtaÂtion,
It raised two wings into a cross
As if an angel
It swept and swept all through the month
This freÂquently occurred
The canÂdle burned upon the desk
The canÂdle burned
Boris PasterÂnak
