Should we not then cease, my friend,
My poor dear neighbour, make an end
Of versifying useless rhymes?
Prepare our waggons for the time
When we that longest road must wend ?
Into the other world, my friend,
To God we'll hasten to our rest . . .
We have grown weary, utter-tired,
A little wisdom we've acquired,
It should suffice! To sleep is best,
Let us now go home to rest . . .
A home of gladness, you may know!
No, let us not depart, nor go, —
It is early still,
We shall yet take walks together,
Sit, and gaze our fill,
Gaze upon the world, my fortune,
See how wide it spreads,
Wide and joyful, it is both
Bright, and of great depth!
We shall yet take walks, my star,
On a hill climb high,
And take our rest together. . . . And
Your sister-stars, meanwhile,
The ageless ones, will start to shine,
Through the heavens glide . . .
Let us linger then, my sister,
Thou, my holy bride,
And with lips unsullied we shall
Make our prayer to God,
And then set out quietly
On that longest road,
Over Lethe's plumbless depths,
Waters dark and swarthy,
Grant me then thy blessing, friend,
With thy holy glory.
While this and that and all such wear on.
Straight let us go, as the crow flies,
To Aesculapius for advice,
If he can outwit old Charon
And spinning Fate. . . . And then, as long as
The old sage would change his purpose,
We would create, reclining there,
An epic, soaring everywhere
Above the earth, hexameters
We'd twine, and up the attic stairs
Take them for mice to gnaw. Then we
Would sing prose, yet with harmony
And not haphazard.
Holy friend,
Companion to my journey's end,
Before the fire has ceased to glow,
Let us to Charon, rather, go!
Over Lethe's plumbless depths,
Waters dark and swarthy,
Let us sail, let us bear
With us holy glory,
Ageless, young for evermore . . .
Or... friend, let it be!
I will do without the glory,
If they grant it me,
There on the banks of Phlegethon,
Or beside the Styx, in heaven,
As if by the broad Dnipro, there
In a grove, a grove primaeval,
A little house I'll build, and make
An orchard all around it growing,
And you'll fly to me in the shades,
There, like a beauty, I'll enthrone you;
Dnipro and Ukraina we
Shall recall, merry settlements
Among groves, gravemounds in the steppes,
And we shall sing right merrily.
Author notes
This is my translation of the last poem written by Taras Shevchenko (1814-1861), the Ukrainian national poet, a few days before his death.
A contest entry
- Rhyme and Flow part 10 Goodbye - 50,000 points series by cricketjeff.
10000 points, ended September 21, 2008, 28 entries
Honorable mention
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
PLEASE DO NOT FEEL OBLIGED TO COMMENT - but if you do comment, please understand that it may be some time before I can respond
Comments
1 - 5 of 5
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This is wonderful - thank you!
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I am, as you know in awe of your translation skills, this stands on its own as an excellent poem and you should be applauded by all of the poetry community for allowing us access to brilliant poets that are beyond our unaided reach. thank-you for that.
Sue and I both want to thank you for your participation in this contest and both series of challenges we have run. There will be new contests coming, so please watch out for them.
All the best and thanks again,
Jeff and Sue
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Dear Vera
E=MC2
Excellence=mediocrity X creativity(squared)
Whatever else you may say about me, I knew a great poet/physicist once. You Vera!
Extraordinary rendition. Am proud to have followed some of Mr Schevchenko's writing through your generous gift.
All the love,
John-USA
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A wonderful poem, translation with end-rhyme, rich flowing verses...PK
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Excellent!
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