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Post by MoonyLuna on Jan 14, 2009 12:45:23 GMT -5
Fine, then, lie in the grass. The thicker it grows The less conspicuous is the white torso, That much more futile the long trajectory Of power's glare; the less glory The more butterflies here and wasps.
The more softly the word is pronounced The more ardent, the more miraculous. The less it dreams of becoming a song That much nearer it draws to music, The more burning, more useless.
The less show it makes of its gloom The more blameless, and sadder, Not calling for any loud phrases About that press, that anvil, Where, so many times, it was smothered.
Love is tragic, life frightening. The brighter the white against the green ... I do not know of what I'm guilty. The more hopeless the times The stronger my friendship with Apollo.
The less dream of success The more room for the soul. Pierce me, arm me, With the burning joy of a bee. Like some great hailstone in the grass—fine, then, lie there.
Copyright Aleksandr Kushner translated from the Russian by Carol Ueland and Robert Carnevale
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Post by MoonyLuna on Jan 14, 2009 12:46:12 GMT -5
Featured Poet Aleksandr Kushner
Aleksandr Kushner is one of Russia's best-loved and most-honored poets. Among his many awards are the laureate of the Russian State Prize (1996) and the Pushkin Prize (2001). During the Soviet era, he was published in small editions but when, in 1986 at the start of perestroika, his poems were collected in a single volume, an edition of one hundred thousand quickly sold out.
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