Tag Archives: love

The Rain by Simon Van Booy

A few  quotes by Simon Van Booy.  His writing is beautiful and mesmerizing, just a pure joy .

“When small drops began to fall and darken the world in penny-shaped circles, no one arround him scurried for cover.  For lonely people, rain is a chance to be touched.”

“It had rained, she said, and I imagined the beads of small water on the windshield like a thousand eyes, or each drop a small imperfect reflection of a perfect moment.”

“Rain says everything we cannot say to one another.  It is an ancient sound that willed all life into being, but fell so long upon nothing.”

 

rain-07

The Night Rain

by Konstantin Balmont

There was a rain.  With a melodious sound,

It was a-striking at the roofing’s beast.

And through all night, it was a spirit bound

With soul mine rejecting the night rest.

 

I was recalling.  All my childhood’s years.

The village where I have been born and grown.

My ancient garden. Waters of my river

And flame of flowers its steep shores on.

 

I was recalling.  The first date’s attraction.

The grove of birches, starry night in June.

She’d come to me.  But like sharp pain was passion.

And she had fled – a bird under the moon.

 

I was recalling.  My new song of soul.

And more and more – the smiles of lips and eyes.

She’s blonde, dark-browed, gentle….  And the whole

Wave of sweet love, narration of the stars.

 

I was recalling: no return for gladness,

And to that gladness – no ways are left …

And rain was striking, in this weather helpless

Composing a measured minuet.

Untitled by Marina Tsvetaeva

They fly – quick-wrought and quickly written,
Still hot from all the bitterness and bliss.
My moment, hour, day, year, lifetime – smitten,
Twixt love and love lie on the crucifix.

And I hear word of thunderstorms a-rising;
Spears, Amazonian, again flash through the sky…
Yet cannot hold my pen back! These two roses
Have sucked my heart’s blood dry.

1916

“Rain Flogs My Face…”

by Bella Akhmadulina.  Translated by Yevgeny Bonver.

Rain flogs my face and collar-bones,
a thunderstorm roars over musts.
You thrust upon my flesh and soul,
like tempests upon ships do thrust.

I  do not want, at all, to know,
what will befall to me the next -
would I be smashed against my woe,
or thrown into happiness.

In awe and gaiety elated,
like a ship, that’s going tempests through,
I am not sorry that I’ve met you,
and not afraid to love you, too.