Читать книгу In Praise of Poetry - Ольга Седакова - Страница 57

THIRD INTRODUCTION

A northern harp one last time

I shall take into my hands

and I’ll kiss farewell, farewell

to that blind old music.

How I used to love that tune,

that light in love with the dark.

And nothing will end with itself,

as you once said to me—

not with evil, poison or slander,

or a wound of the heart’s surrender,

not even death so young and tender

crossing above itself

two saplings in full bloom.

Dark is your storytelling,

yet it suddenly flares so bright

like a thousand colorful jewels

on a thousand slender hands,

and you see there’s no one here:

and you see there is only light.

So let us ask that we may too

stay on here like light.

That we may build a house from tears

for everything we had to do

and remember day and night.

Go now, may the Lord be with you,

and eat your bread, your earthly path—

which leads I know not where, but away.

And night draws in behind you

a meadow colorful and heavy.

And if fate deals out to us

its most unlucky star,

the wind bloweth wherever it wills,

and we live wherever we are.