The house of Boris Pasternak
I hear your voice held inside the wind.
The chant hollow, empty as the Steppes.
Love veiled in eternity, ancestry revealed
as starry-eyed we see into the past.
You whisper of needs unfulfilled;
appetites beyond the ken of mortal sight;
and anger at lives lost.
Behind this bitter song the sweetest melody
is carried by the leafless silver birch.
A balalaika croons the old refrain;
rippling chords vibrate against my heart;
and a chestnut’s fallen leaves
chatter like a child again.
‘Come back to me, come back my darling boy’.
You urge my step to pierce the darkling veil.
And yet within your dulcet tone,
resounds a prayer older than creation.
That you might leave behind the vale of shadows
This is wonderfully atmospheric, sometimes we catch glimpses of the yesteryears or things we lost simply by walking old rooms or trailing a hand on something that was part someone’s past. Really got me thinking. Thanks Keith
It’s the opening scene from Dr Zhivago. One of my favourite visual and written scenes. Glad you enjoyed.
This is such a beautiful image filled poem, an absolute pleasure to read. Sue.
Sue, I am buoyed by what you say. It is one of my own personal favourites. How’s that for arrogance? Lol…
I confess that I don’t know much about Pasternak and Peredelkino but it was lucky for me that I was familiar with Doctor Zhivago and could see the connection with your poem, brilliantly written as usual.