NNBMix - Letter to a Woman (by Sergei Yesenin)
### **Letter to a Woman** *(by Sergei Yesenin)* You remember, Of course, you do remember— How I stood there, Pressed against the wall, While you paced the room in agitation, And hurled sharp words Straight into my face. You said: “It’s time for us to part, I’m tired of your Reckless, vagrant life. It’s time for me to take my path in earnest, And yours— Is downward, into night.” Beloved! You never loved me truly. You never knew that in the human throng I was like a horse, lashed into lather, Driven hard by a daring hand. You never knew That in the ceaseless smoke, In the storm-torn life’s commotion, I suffered only that I could not know Where fate was driving our devotion. Face to face— The face is hard to see. Great things are clearer from afar. When ocean’s surface boils with storm, The ship seems doomed beneath the spar. The Earth’s a ship! And someone bold, For new life and for fame resplendent, Has steered her grandly through the cold, Through whirlwinds, gales, and tempest’s vengeance. But who among us, on that deck, Has not been sick, or cursed, or stumbled? Few souls there are with strength unbent, Whose hearts stayed firm when all else tumbled. And so I too, Amid that din, But knowing well my labor’s measure, Went down into the ship’s dark hold— To shut my eyes from people’s nausea. That hold became— A Russian tavern. I bent above the glass in sorrow, To kill myself in drunken fervor, So none I loved would know tomorrow. Beloved! I tormented you. Your weary eyes Were full of aching: That I, before your gaze, made show Of all my scandals, noise, and breaking. But you knew not That in the smoke, In stormy life’s convulsive motion, I suffered still, that I could not Grasp where fate was steering our devotion... Now years have passed. I am of other age. I feel and think in other measure. And at the feast, with wine I raise, My praise and glory—to the Helmsman! Today I’m filled With tender grace. I’ve called to mind your sad expression— And now I hasten to convey What I became, and my confession. Beloved! It’s pleasant now to tell: I have escaped from cliffs and falling. Now, in the Soviet land, I dwell— The fiercest comrade, forward-calling. I am no longer Who I was. I’d never hurt you, as before. For freedom’s flag And honest labor’s cause— I’d march to Dover’s distant shore. Forgive me… I know: you are not she— You live now with a man of reason; You need no more our misery, And I, for you, am out of season. So live as leads Your guiding star, Beneath the vault of life’s renewal. With greeting from The one you knew afar— Yours always, Sergei Yesenin.
### **Letter to a Woman** *(by Sergei Yesenin)* You remember, Of course, you do remember— How I stood there, Pressed against the wall, While you paced the room in agitation, And hurled sharp words Straight into my face. You said: “It’s time for us to part, I’m tired of your Reckless, vagrant life. It’s time for me to take my path in earnest, And yours— Is downward, into night.” Beloved! You never loved me truly. You never knew that in the human throng I was like a horse, lashed into lather, Driven hard by a daring hand. You never knew That in the ceaseless smoke, In the storm-torn life’s commotion, I suffered only that I could not know Where fate was driving our devotion. Face to face— The face is hard to see. Great things are clearer from afar. When ocean’s surface boils with storm, The ship seems doomed beneath the spar. The Earth’s a ship! And someone bold, For new life and for fame resplendent, Has steered her grandly through the cold, Through whirlwinds, gales, and tempest’s vengeance. But who among us, on that deck, Has not been sick, or cursed, or stumbled? Few souls there are with strength unbent, Whose hearts stayed firm when all else tumbled. And so I too, Amid that din, But knowing well my labor’s measure, Went down into the ship’s dark hold— To shut my eyes from people’s nausea. That hold became— A Russian tavern. I bent above the glass in sorrow, To kill myself in drunken fervor, So none I loved would know tomorrow. Beloved! I tormented you. Your weary eyes Were full of aching: That I, before your gaze, made show Of all my scandals, noise, and breaking. But you knew not That in the smoke, In stormy life’s convulsive motion, I suffered still, that I could not Grasp where fate was steering our devotion... Now years have passed. I am of other age. I feel and think in other measure. And at the feast, with wine I raise, My praise and glory—to the Helmsman! Today I’m filled With tender grace. I’ve called to mind your sad expression— And now I hasten to convey What I became, and my confession. Beloved! It’s pleasant now to tell: I have escaped from cliffs and falling. Now, in the Soviet land, I dwell— The fiercest comrade, forward-calling. I am no longer Who I was. I’d never hurt you, as before. For freedom’s flag And honest labor’s cause— I’d march to Dover’s distant shore. Forgive me… I know: you are not she— You live now with a man of reason; You need no more our misery, And I, for you, am out of season. So live as leads Your guiding star, Beneath the vault of life’s renewal. With greeting from The one you knew afar— Yours always, Sergei Yesenin.