TATYANA BEK'S POEMS

From a Low Hill
From the collection "Bullfinch"

From a low hill,
My high voice soars:
Rise, rise!
It’s me—only me—
Who has tangled eerything beyond repair.

Above the barley field,
My cry rushes, blazing:
“Turn away from me,
For I am no good!”

...And they turned away.
“Wait, where are you going?
I won’t leave you alone!
Just say: ‘It’s nothing,’
Or, ‘Sorrow is no tragedy,’
Or something—
Anything at all...”

The Downpour Turned to Ice
From the collection "Bullfinch"

The downpour turned to ice, or frost,
And I can’t even recognize my own face.
We’ll meet—both of us, heads thrown to the sky,
Two proud fools, two vain hearts.

You always said I played the silent game,
That I held the world at arm’s length, cautious and polite.
Well, here you go! I’ve turned myself inside out:
Frayed threads, coarse stitches.

You wanted honesty? Fine.
You wanted to dig deep? Go ahead.
The truth is dark, messy, unkempt—
Like an empty lot overrun with spurge.

Why do you recoil now, Soul Butcher?
Don’t claw at my tormented soul again.

Rise higher, crack louder—
Pain and outrage, tenderness and pride!

The Strength of Weakness, the Power of Fear
From the collection "Bullfinch"

The strength of weakness,
The power of fear—
Whispered softly
By small groves near.

A commanding rustle,
A barely-there sound,
Fills the mind
With metaphors profound:

“Oh, my kin!”
But the shadowy elm
Peers back with a hundred
Orange eyes that overwhelm:

“What does she want?
And who is she,
This stranger wrapped
In a gray cloak by the trees?”

How Much Longer
From the collection "Bullfinch"

How much longer,
Exhausting my kin,
Will I bury myself
In notebooks and pillows?

First, I’ll leave for Kushka,
Then to Tiksi—off I’ll go!

I’ll flee the cawing of rooks,
This soggy, absurd city
Where icicles once sang to me for free,
But then—alas—fell out of love.

They’ve fallen out of love—fine, so be it.
Farewell!
I won’t lift a finger
To make amends.

...Ahead lies a multitude of troubles,
And still, I can’t scrape up the fare for a ticket.

But oh,
What a magnificent light
Shines for stowaways
Riding the train’s vestibule!

Autumn Again
From the collection "Bullfinch"

The powdered snow melts quickly—
It came, and now it’s gone,
Drifting back to the heavens,
Wrapped in mist and dawn.

The river feels sluggish,
The tree stumps turn black...
“Tie your coat tight with rope!
Keep the chill from your back!”

And, hat pulled low,
Among the swollen branches,
In the thick, damp air—
Stand still,
Like a tree.

Again, Again, I Dream of Father
From the collection "Bullfinch"

Again, again, I dream of Father,
Every day it’s just the same...
His eternal drape coat,
Long and heavy,
From the days of RAPP.
I shout: “Put on your beret!”

But now his loving eyes,
Sharp as drill bits,
Gaze at me from Lethe’s shore.
A potato nose, a cigarette...
“Portraits change,”
I whisper through the dark hour.

On the frozen ground, Father is now a mound.
And to the empty, borrowed words, I’ll say:
“Yes, he was a joker, a recluse,
A fighter for who-knows-what—but
It is not for you to judge him!”

Bita Takrimi is a poet and translator proficient in Russian, Polish, Czech, and Persian. Several of her poems have been published, and she has translated a variety of poetic works.

"I’m excited to share my translations of selected poems by the Russian poet Tatyana Bek. Bek’s poetry captures the raw, bittersweet textures of life—her work is at once sharp, introspective, and achingly beautiful. In these translations, my goal is to preserve the cadence and emotional depth of her unique voice for an English-speaking audience, highlighting her talent for blending irony with tenderness."