February. Take ink and weep,

February. Take ink and weep,

write February as you’re sobbing,

while black Spring burns deep

through the slush and throbbing.

 

Take a cab. For a clutch of copecks,

through bell-towers’ and wheel noise,

go where the rain-storm’s din breaks,

greater than crying or ink employs.

 

Where rooks in thousands falling,

like charred pears from the skies,

drop down into puddles, bringing

cold grief to the depths of eyes.

 

Below, the black shows through,

and the wind’s furrowed with cries:

the more freely, the more truly

then, sobbing verse is realised.

                    —Boris Pasternak

Tatyana Tolstaya quotes the first line of this poem in The Slynx. (It's one of the pieces of literature claimed by the Great Leader of the futuristic Moscow of the novel). I've no idea if this translation is any good, but it is offered for non-commercial use by A.S. Kline (thank you Mr. Kline!). Any other suggestions of better ones?

In searching for the complete text of the poem, the name Regina Spektor kept popping up. She apparently quotes from it in her song "Après Moi."