Venice

Author: Boris Pasternak
Translated (from original Russian) by: Andrey Kneller
Written: 1913
Introduction:
Pasternak's description in this piece is riviting. Enjoy.

So early that it hadn’t dawned,
The ringing windowpanes awoke me.
A moistened pretzel made of stone,--
Below me, Venice floated calmly.

Now, all was calm, but all the while,
While still asleep, I heard a cry
And like a mark that had been silenced,
It still disturbed the morning sky.

Like Scorpio’s trident, - there it dangled
Above the mandolins. Perchance,
Somewhere afar, a woman, angered,
Had voiced the call in her defense.

As though a pitchfork in the skyline,
Though silenced now, her voice got stuck.
The Grand Canal, with nervous smiles,
Much like a fugitive, gazed back.

And rushing, hungry and stretched out,
The jaded waves already neared
As gondolas swayed, tightly bound
And honed their noses on the pier.

Beyond the docks of boats, already,
From dreams, reality was raised
And Venice, -- a Venetian lady
Was diving off the bank with grace.