Black spring! Pick up your pen...

It is almost spring, and I feel spring energy. In the 90km/h wind and the roar of the trees around our house last night. In the damp and heavy, but already warm air. I don't feel like hibernating anymore. I am more positive and more motivated. New chapters to write, new books to read (I just got one in the mail that I can't wait to start), new paths (literal, in the nearby park, and metaphorical) to explore.

As I wrote the first paragraph, one of my favorite poems by Boris Pasternak came to mind. This is an excellent transation. I got it here: http://oldpoetry.com/opoem/30397-Boris-Pasternak-Black-spring--Pick-up-your-pen--and-weeping---. Enjoy.

Black spring! Pick up your pen, and weeping,
Of February, in sobs and ink,
Write poems, while the slush in thunder
Is burning in the black of spring.


Through clanking wheels, through church bells ringing
A hired cab will take you where
The town has ended, where the showers
Are louder still than ink and tears.


Where rooks, like charred pears, from the branches
In thousands break away, and sweep
Into the melting snow, instilling
Dry sadness into eyes that weep.


Beneath--the earth is black in puddles,
The wind with croaking screeches throbs,
And--the more randomly, the surer
Poems are forming out of sobs.

And in Russian:

Февраль.
Достать чернил и плакать!
Писать о феврале навзрыд,
Пока грохочущая слякоть
Весною черною горит.
Достать пролетку. За шесть гривен,
Чрез благовест, чрез клик колес,
Перенестись туда, где ливень
Еще шумней чернил и слез.
Где, как обугленные груши,
С деревьев тысячи грачей
Сорвутся в лужи и обрушат
Сухую грусть на дно очей.
Под ней проталины чернеют,
И ветер криками изрыт,
И чем случайней, тем вернее
Слагаются стихи навзрыд.