Читать книгу In Praise of Poetry - Ольга Седакова - Страница 23

2. MARCHING SONG

To France there journeyed two grenadiers, escaped from confinement in Russia,

Their jackets were covered completely in dust, and France was also all dusty.

How strange it now seems. Life suddenly settles, like ashes,

Like snow on the roads of Smolensk, or sand on the steppes of Arabia.

And vision goes further, and further, the sky most visible of all.

“What dost Thou want, o Lord, what dost Thou want from Thy slave?”

Above our every desire, a lash of sorts rests, waiting to be seen.

Would that my eyes had not seen. But it is ordained that they see.

And so they shall see. Is anything impossible above this humble and vulgar earth?

How high does the fateful comet’s fire play with light, before it blazes forth?

Arise, then, stand forth, o wretched comrade! Soldiers should not laze about.

We drink to the faith that lives unto death: beyond that, disloyalty has no abode.