But Fear And The Muse In Turn

... He Is Rewarded With A Form Of Eternal Childhood, With The Bounty And Vigilance Of The Stars, The Whole World Was His Inheritance And He Shared It With Everyone.

During The Terrible Years Of The Yekhov Terror I Spent Seventeen Months In The Prison Queues In Leningrad. One Day Someone ‘identified’ Me. Then A Woman With Lips Blue With Cold Who Was Standing Behind Me, And Of Course Had Never Heard Of My Name, Came Out Of The Numbness Which Affected Us All And Whispered In My Ear—(we All Spoke In Whispers There): ‘could You Describe This?’ I Said, ‘i Can!’ Then Something Resembling A Smile Slipped Over What Had Once Been Her Face.

You Will Hear Thunder And Remember Me, And Think: She Wanted Storms.

But Fear And The Muse In Turn Guard The Place Where The Banished Poet Has Gone And The Night That Comes With Quickened Pace Is Ignorant Of Dawn.

A Land Not Mine, Still Forever Memorable, The Waters Of Its Ocean Chill And Fresh. Sand On The Bottom Whiter Than Chalk, And The Air Drunk, Like Wine, Late Sun Lays Bare The Rosy Limbs Of The Pinetrees. Sunset In The Ethereal Waves: I Cannot Tell If The Day Is Ending, Or The World, Or If The Secret Of Secrets Is Inside Me Again.