Bellevue
December 31, 1926
December 31, 1926
The year ended in your death? The end? The beginning! You yourself are the New Year. (Beloved, I know you are reading this before I write it.) I am crying, Rainer, you are streaming from my eyes!
Dear one, now that you are dead there is no death (or no life!). What can I say? That little town in Savoy - when? where? Rainer, what about that "nest" to keep our dreams in? Now Russian is an open book to you, so you know that the Russian word for "nest" is gnezdo. And you know so many other things.
I don't want to reread your letter or I will want to join you - there - and I dare not wish for such a thing. You know what such a wish implies.
Rainer, I am always conscious of your presence at my shoulder.
Did you ever think of me? Yes, of course you did.
Tomorrow is New Year's Day, Rainer. 1927. Seven is your favorite number. You were born in 1875 (newspaper date?). Fifty-one years old?
How disconsolate I am!
Don't dare to grieve! At midnight tonight I will drink with you (you know how I clink glasses - ever so lightly!).
Beloved, come to me often in my dreams. No, not that. Live in my dreams. Now you have a right to wish and to fulfill your wishes.
You and I never believed in our meeting here on earth, any more than we believed in life on this earth, isn't that so? You - have gone before me (and that is better!), and to receive me well you have taken not a room, not a house, but a whole landscape. I kiss you... on the lips? on the temple? on the forehead? Of course on the lips, for real, as if alive.
Beloved, love me more and differently from others. Don't be angry with me. You must grow accustomed to me, to such a one as I am. What else?
No, you are not yet far away and high above, you are right here, with your head on my shoulder. You will never be far away: never inaccessibly high.
You are my darling grown-up boy.
Rainer, write to me! (A foolish request?)
Happy New Year and may you enjoy the heavenly landscape!
Marina
Rainer, you are still on this earth; twenty-four hours have not yet passed.
Dear one, now that you are dead there is no death (or no life!). What can I say? That little town in Savoy - when? where? Rainer, what about that "nest" to keep our dreams in? Now Russian is an open book to you, so you know that the Russian word for "nest" is gnezdo. And you know so many other things.
I don't want to reread your letter or I will want to join you - there - and I dare not wish for such a thing. You know what such a wish implies.
Rainer, I am always conscious of your presence at my shoulder.
Did you ever think of me? Yes, of course you did.
Tomorrow is New Year's Day, Rainer. 1927. Seven is your favorite number. You were born in 1875 (newspaper date?). Fifty-one years old?
How disconsolate I am!
Don't dare to grieve! At midnight tonight I will drink with you (you know how I clink glasses - ever so lightly!).
Beloved, come to me often in my dreams. No, not that. Live in my dreams. Now you have a right to wish and to fulfill your wishes.
You and I never believed in our meeting here on earth, any more than we believed in life on this earth, isn't that so? You - have gone before me (and that is better!), and to receive me well you have taken not a room, not a house, but a whole landscape. I kiss you... on the lips? on the temple? on the forehead? Of course on the lips, for real, as if alive.
Beloved, love me more and differently from others. Don't be angry with me. You must grow accustomed to me, to such a one as I am. What else?
No, you are not yet far away and high above, you are right here, with your head on my shoulder. You will never be far away: never inaccessibly high.
You are my darling grown-up boy.
Rainer, write to me! (A foolish request?)
Happy New Year and may you enjoy the heavenly landscape!
Marina
Rainer, you are still on this earth; twenty-four hours have not yet passed.
U zivotu se nisu nikada sreli? :O
ReplyDeleteOvo mi zabada noz kroz srce.
ReplyDelete