I came here, in idleness.
Where I’m bored: all the same to me!
A sleepy hilltop mill, yes,
here years pass silently.
Over convolvulus gone dry
the bee swims past, ahead,
I call to that mermaid by
the pond: the mermaid’s dead.
Thick with mud, and rusted,
the wide pond’s shallows:
over the trembling aspen
a weightless moon glows.
I see everything freshly.
The poplars smell moist.
I’m silent. Silent, ready
to be yours again, earth.
By Anna Akhmatova, Translated by A. S. Kline
No comments:
Post a Comment