How peculiar. My sister read one of Marina Tsvetaeva's poems to me, and it resonated with as much as no other poem so far. It was very personal, hitting the spot on what I feel - too bad I don't remember the name. I've found the original of the poem you linked to, and I must say: the translation has torn to pieces its meaning and the acrid commentary. Yes, the overall plot - if one'd be bold enough to say the poem has a plot - is there, but it's been sanitized. I'll give my amateur hand to translating it into English in the proper way; I promise nothing, for such things require much time and experience to work properly. If you'd ever want to learn Russian, I'll be happy to give you a heads-up. Just ask edricarica for why it might be cool if you aren't convinced. I've met and heard from a few Americans who've visited Russia, and everyone has left astonished by the country. I don't understand it, but it's there.