Previous month:
December 2009
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June 2010

Change is Evil. Well, mostly.

Those pangs of homesickness!

That long since detected upheaval!

I am altogether indifferent

As to where to be altogether


Alone or how to drag my tote

From bazaar to house and home,

A home that is mine no more

Than a hospital or garrison;


Indifferent to what sort of people

Will see me, the caged lion, bristle

And from what sort of world I will -

As I must - be banished into


Myself and my own feelings.

Like a Kamchatka bear with no ice floe,

I don't care where not to fit in

(I don't try to) and where to eat crow


Nor am I charmed by my mother

Tongue's call, cajoling and creamy:

I set no great store by the tongue that others

use to misconstrue me


(Readers solely intent upon

Milking the press of its bletherings),

For they're of this twentieth century,

And I precede the centuries.


I am stunned like a log left to lie

On a path with trees. Everyone's the same

To me, it's all the same to me,

And what is all the more the same


 

And closest of all, perhaps, is the past.

All my features, all traces, all dates

Have vanished into its morass:

I am merely a soul born-somewhere.


 

My country has so let me down

That should a sharp-eyed sleuth

Search that soul inside out

It would fail to sleuth forth native roots.


Every house is alien, every temple empty,

All the same, all one, all mere trash.

But if by the road there's a tree

That chances to be mountain ash......

                                                                                        Marina Tsetaeva