r_m_rilke @ 2007-08-14T12:42:00 Созерцание
(Перевел Борис Pasternak) Trees folds of the cortex
tell me about hurricanes,
and I am their communications from
can not hear amid the unexpected
hardship, wandering permanent
alone without a friend and sister.
Through the grove the storm breaks,
through the fence and house.
again ageless nature.
and days, and things are goods,
and further spaces - A verse in the psalm.
as minor to life our disputes,
how big is that against us!
B. When we succumb to the pressure of
elements, seeking space,
we have grown to a hundred times.
All that we are winning - the small,
demeans us our success.
extraordinary, unprecedented
calling wrestlers not those.
So the angel of the Old Testament
found contender match.
As a harp, he clutched an athlete,
MDM either lived
string angels ministered,
order to battle hymn for him to play.
whom he defeated Angel
that right, not being proud of themselves,
out of this battle
in the mind and the prime of life.
he will not seek victory.
He is waiting to start university
it more often defeated,
чтобы расти ему в ответ.
The Looking
I see the trees in the storms,
the beat of liquor that have become days
to my anxious window
hear and say the Far things
I can not bear without a friend, not
without sister can love.
There goes the storm, a remodeling
goes through the woods and by the time
and everything is like no age:
the landscape, like a verse in the Psalter,
is serious and weight and eternity.
How is small, with which we struggle
which is struggling with us, as this is great;
we left, like the things
defeat us so from the great storm, -
we were far and nameless.
What we defeat is the small,
and success itself makes us small.
The eternal and unusually
will not be bent by us.
This is the angel who appeared
the wrestlers of the Old Testament:
when his opponent stretch tendons
metals in the struggle to
he felt them under his fingers like strings
deep melodies.
Who this angel overcame
which omitted, as often struggle
goes just and upright
and great from that harsh Hand,
die sich, wie formend, an ihn schmiegte.
Die Siege laden ihn nicht ein.
Sein Wachstum ist: der Tiefbesiegte
von immer Größerem zu sein.
Two translations of Vasyl Stus:
Looking (end 1960),
Contemplating world (1973).
