Traduciendo, bebiendo, aprendiendo.

Jak nie kochać jesieni... [PL: How can one not love autumn]

Autumn is a time of meditation, a time of letting go. It's a time of endings but also beginnings. It's a time for reflection, a time for silence. I found the below poem almost by accident, it is beautiful and I felt like sharing. As always, the translation is mine.

Jak nie kochać jesieni... 

Jak nie kochać jesieni, jej babiego lata,
Liści niesionych wiatrem, w rytm deszczu tańczących.
Ptaków, co przed podróżą na drzewach usiadły,
Czekając na swych braci, za morze lecących.¨

Jak nie kochać jesieni, jej barw purpurowych,
Szarych, żółtych, czerwonych, srebrnych, szczerozłotych.
Gdy białą mgłą otuli zachodzący księżyc,
Kojąc w twym słabym sercu, codzienne zgryzoty.

Jak nie kochać jesieni, smutnej, zatroskanej,
Pełnej tęsknoty za tym, co już nie powróci.
Chryzantemy pobieli, dla tych, których nie ma.
Szronem łąki maluje, ukoi, zasmuci.

Jak nie kochać jesieni, siostry listopada,
Tego, co królowanie blaskiem świec rozpocznie.
I w swoim majestacie uczy nas pokory.
Bez słowa na cmentarze wzywa nas corocznie.

Tadeusz Wywrocki

English: How can one not love autumn...

How can one not love autumn, its Indian summer.

The leaves carried by the wind, to the rhythm of dancing rain.

The birds, sitting on trees before their journey.

Waiting for their brothers, flying overseas.

How can one not love autumn, its colours purple.

Grey, yellow, red, silver, pure gold.

When the white mist wraps itself around the setting moon.

Soothing the daily griefs in your fragile heart.

How can one not love autumn, so sad, so anxious,

so filled with longing for that which will not return.

The Chrysanthemums glitter for those, who no longer are.

The frost paints the meadows, soothing, upsetting.

How can one not love autumn, the sister of November.

The one that begins the reign of candles.

And in its majesty teaches us humility.

Without a word it calls us to the cemeteries every year. 

Tidig gryning [SWE: Early Dawn]

Tonight's translation finds its inspiration close to home. Edith Södergran was a Swedish-speaking Finnish poet who lived and wrote in the first decades of the 20th century. Her career, as well as her life, was a short one. She died at the age of 31. She is probably the most known Finnish poet and one of the most important Swedish-speaking modernists.

Below you will find two of her poems in Swedish - Tidig gryning and Vierge moderne - as well as my translations of them. The first poem I find soothing, there is something hopeful about it. The other one, I believe, is a good description of womanhood and the contradictory aspects and the complex whole of the self. 


Tidig gryning

Några sista stjärnor lysa matt. 
Jag ser dem ur mitt fönster. Himlen är blek, 
man anar knappast dagen som börjar i fjärran. 
Det vilar en tystnad utbredd över sjön, 
det ligger en viskning på lur mellan träden, 
min gamla trädgård lyssnar halvförstrött 
till nattens andetag, som susa över vägen. 

*******

A few final stars shine dimly.
I see them from my window. The sky is pale, 
one barely senses the day that begins in the distance. 
A silence is resting over the lake,
a whisper is hiding between the trees,
my old garden is listening half-distractedly
to the breaths of the night, rustling over the road


Vierge moderne

Jag är ingen kvinna. Jag är ett neutrum. 
Jag är ett barn, en page och ett djärvt beslut, 
jag är en skrattande strimma av en scharlakanssol... 
Jag är ett nät för alla glupska fiskar, 
jag är en skål för alla kvinnors ära, 
jag är ett steg mot slumpen och fördärvet, 
jag är ett språng i friheten och självet... 
Jag är blodets viskning i mannens öra, 
jag är en själens frossa, köttets längtan och förvägran, 
jag är en ingångsskylt till nya paradis. 
Jag är en flamma, sökande och käck, 
jag är ett vatten, djupt men dristigt upp till knäna, 
jag är eld och vatten i ärligt sammanhang på fria villkor... 

********

I am no woman. I am a neuter. 
I am a child, a page and a bold decision,
I am a laughing ray of a scarlet sun...
I am a net for all gluttonous fishes,
I am a bowl for the honour of all women,
I am a step toward chance and ruin,
I am a leap into freedom and the self...
I am the whisper of the blood in a man's ear,
I am the shivers of the soul, the longing and the denial of the flesh,
I am an entrance sign to new paradises. 
I am a flame, seeking and jaunty, 
I am a water, deep but daring to your knees,
I am fire and water in an honest context on free terms... 

Chciałbym opisać [PL: I would like to describe]

Yet again it is time for a translated poem. This poem - Chciałbym opisać - was written by the Polish poet Zbigniew Herbert. In case you are interested to read more Polish poetry, you may find it here http://poema.pl/publikacja/2715-chcialbym-opisac

The translation is mine. 

******************************************************

Chciałbym opisać najprostsze wzruszenie
radość lub smutek
ale nie tak jak robią to inni
sięgając po promienie deszczu albo słońca 

chciałbym opisać światło
które we mnie się rodzi
ale wiem że nie jest ono podobne
do żadnej gwiazdy
bo jest nie tak jasne
nie tak czyste
i niepewne

chciałbym opisać męstwo
nie ciągnąc za sobą zakurzonego lwa
a także niepokój 
nie potrząsając szklanką pełną wody

inaczej mówiąc
oddam wszystkie przenośnie
za jeden wyraz
wyłuskany z piersi jak żebro
za jedno słowo
które mieści się
w granicach mojej skóry
ale nie jest to widać możliwe

i aby powiedzieć - kocham
biegam jak szalony
zrywając naręcza ptaków
i tkliwość moja
która nie jest przecież w wody
prosi wodę o twarz

i gniew różny od ognia
pożycza od niego
wielomównego języka

tak się miesza
tak się miesza
we mnie
to co siwi panowie
podzielili raz na zawsze
i powiedzieli
to jest podmiot
a to przedmiot

zasypiamy
z jedną ręką pod głową
a z drugą w kopcu planet

a stopy opuszczają nas
i smakują ziemię
małymi korzonkami
które rano
odrywamy boleśnie

Zbigniew Herbert

*************************************************

I would like to describe the simplest emotion
happiness or sadness
but not the way others do it
reaching for the rays of rains or sunshine

I would like to describe the light
that grows within me
but I know that it is not similar
to any star
because it is not so bright
not so clean
not so pure
and uncertain

I would like to describe the bravery
not dragging behind me the dusty lion
nor anxiety
not shaking the glass filled with water

in other words
I will give up all metaphors
for one sentence
taken from the breast like a rib
for one word
which fits 
within the limits of my skin
but which cannot be seen

and to say – I love
I run like crazy
breaking the flock of birds
and my tenderness
not yet being in the water
asks for water on her face

and the anger different from fire
borrows from it
the verbose language

so it is mixed
so it is mixed
within me
that what grey gentlemen
divided once and for all
and said 
that is an entity
and that an object

we fall asleep
with one hand under our head
and the other in a pile of planets

and our feet leave us
and they have a taste of earth
with small roots
which we painfully tear up
when the morning comes

czy świat umrze trochę [PL: if the world dies a little]

czy świat umrze trochę
kiedy ja umrę

patrzę patrzę
ubrany w lisi kołnierz
idzie świat

nigdy nie myślałam
że jestem włosem w jego futrze

zawsze byłam tu
on - tam


a jednak
miło jest pomyśleć
że świat umrze trochę
kiedy ja umrę

Halina Poświatowska

****

If the world dies a little
when I die

I look, I look
dressed in a fox collar
the world goes on

I never thought 
that I am a hair in its fur

I have always been here
It - there

Yet
it is nice to think 
that the world dies a little
when I die 

*************

Om världen dör lite
när jag dör

Jag tittar, jag titar
klädd i en rävkrage
går världen

Jag tänkte aldrig
att jag är ett av håren i dess päls

Jag har alltid varit här
Den - där

Ändå
är det trevligt att tänka
att världen dör lite
när jag dör

** Translations to English and Swedish, my own*** 

świat jest pusty [PL: the world is empty]

świat jest pusty
odkąd poszedłeś
nie można żyć bez materii uśmiechu
świat umarł
na pożar lamp
blady księżyc
ponad twoimi ustami
dogorywa
świat jest zły
odkąd poszedłeś
szczerzy zęby
i futro wilcze napina
to co było ciepłem zwiniętym w kłębek
nie jest
świat - kosmicznie zgubiony w sobie
z zimna drży

Halina Poświatowska

************

the world is empty

since you left

one cannot live without the matter of smile

the world died

onto the blazing lamps

under your mouth

the pale moon 

is dying

the world is evil

since you left

it is grinning baring its teeth

and the wolf skin tightens

what was rolled up in a ball of warmth 

is not

the world - cosmically lost in itself

trembling from the cold

***************

världen är tom

efter det att du försvann

man kan inte leva utan leendets materia

världen dog

på lampornas brand

under din mun

är den bleka månen

döende

världen är ond

efter det att du försvann 

den blottar sina tänder i skratt

och vargpälsen stramas åt

det som rullades ihop i en boll av värme

är inte

världen - är kosmiskt vilsen i sig själv

darrande av kyla 

**** Translations to English and Swedish are mine****

bądź przy mnie blisko [PL: be close to me]

bądź przy mnie blisko
bo tylko wtedy
nie jest mi zimno
chłód wieje z przestrzeni
kiedy myślę
jaka ona duża
i jaka ja

to mi trzeba
twoich dwóch ramion zamkniętych
dwóch promieni wszechświata

Halina Poświatowska
*********************************

be close to me 
because only then
I will not feel cold
the cold blows from space
when I think
how great it is
and what I am like
I need them
your two closed arms 
two rays of universe

***********************************

var nära mig
för endast då
har jag inte kallt
kylan blåser in från luften
när jag tänker på
hur stor den är
och hur jag är
jag behöver detta
dina två stänga armar
två av universums strålar


* translations to English and Swedish - my own

Básnik sa modlí za deti

In my Slovak book (Slovak for You) there is a wonderful poem written by Milan Rúfus and I thought I would share it with you.

I have translated the poem into English and Swedish. Both translations are below. At the end of this post, you will find a youtube video of another text by Milan Rufús. Listen to it, and you will hear what a wonderful language Slovak is.


Básnik sa modlí za deti 

Nevedia prečo,

no vel'mi im to treba.

A možno ešte viacej ako chleba.

Aby im v duši pusto nebolo.

Aby ich mali radi okolo.

Aby im bolo mäkko

ako v mame.

Ked' bolia veci, ktoré nepoznáme,

tu každé diet'a,

plaché ako laň,

na hlave musí cítit' teplú dlaň.

Bože,

o takú dlaň Ťa l'udské mlád'a prosí.

V čase, ked' ešte ani nevie, Kto si.

Nášiel Ťa hore ten džavot tenkých hláskov?

Nášiel. Dal si im liek.

A nazval si ho láskou. 

The Poet Prays for the Children

Not knowing why,

but it was to them very necessary.

Perhaps even more so than bread.

So that their souls would not be empty.

So that they would be loved.

So that they would feel as soft

as in their mother.

When the unknown hurts,

here each child,

shy as a dove,

must feel a warm hand on her head. 

God,

the human youth is begging You for such a hand.

In a time, when it does not yet know, Who you are.

Did the chatter of thin voices find You up above? 

It did. You gave them a remedy.

And called it love. 

Poeten ber för barnen

Utan att veta varför,

behöver de det så mycket.

Kanske även mer än bröd.

Så att de inte känner sig tomma i själen.

Så att de blir älskade. 

Så att de känner sig mjuka

som i mamma.

När det okända gör ont,

här ska varje barn,

skygg som en duva,

känna en varm hand på sitt huvud. 

Gud,

en sådan hand ber människobarnen dig om.

I en tid då de ännu inte vet Vem du är. 

Hittade pladdret av tunna röster Dig däruppe?

Det hittade dig. Du gav dem ett botemedel.

Och kallade det kärlek. 

Pravda [SK: Truth]

Pravda

Pravda! -- Ja o nej poznám veľa.

Jej hlas mi vždy bol najdrahší.

Bohovia si ju nerozdelia

v hre pri hazardnom mariáši.

Jej trpezlivým slovom večným

kdekto sa lživo honosí.

No jej sú cudzie sladké slečny,

neznáša zlaté podnosy.

Pravda je ako voda v studni

-- čistá a prostá, hlboká.

Pravda je úsvit nezáludný,

ktorý ťa budí z obloka.

Je v tvrdých dlaniach zapísaná,

zasiata v brázdach našich čiel.

A nie je ťažká žiadna rana

na cestách, ak si za ňou šiel.

Ján Majerník,  Stalo sa, 1978

Truth

Truth! --- I know much about her .

Her voice was always the dearest to me.

May the Gods not break her

in the game of hazardous poker.

On her eternal voice of patience

many would falsely pride themselves.

Indeed, hers are strange sweet ladies,

 not carrying golden plates.

Truth is like water in a well

-- pure and simple, deep. 

Truth is the non-deceptive dawn

that awakes you from the window.

She is written in the hard palms,

planted in the furrows of our aims.

And on the roads no blow 

is heavy, if you'd gone for her yourself.

Ján Majerník,  Stalo sa, 1978 - translation mine

Doing It Right? Notes on Translation.

All of us are customers. We purchase items and services that come with a lot of information. We (or at least I) expect the information to be correct and understandable. Companies (big and small) need to think about cost-efficient solutions when creating the items and the services, as well as the information surrounding them. Logical, isn't it?

When it comes to translation, a lot of things can go wrong. If I hobby-translate some poem, my errors will (hopefully) not have a negative impact on anyone. I do not ask anyone to pay for my translation services or any other services that require translations to be correct. In other word, this criticism is not aimed at language-learning individuals. I question the behavior of companies that do not take these things seriously. However, in the role of customer I feel that I have the right to expect the service provider to provide me with correct information and correct translations. This past weekend I went to Estonia with an Estonian ferry company that provided all information in four languages: Estonian, Swedish, Russian and English. That is great, isn't it? But - and of course there is a but - why pay for a translator if nobody proofreads the text? My opinions continue after the examples. I have done a word-by-word translation of the Swedish texts.

Beauty salon Hera Salongid is for You who You love Yourself and value Your time. When You are always hurrying Yourself in Your hectic life and don't have time to go everywhere, help is sometimes closer than You think! We help You find the most important - Yourself. To again find inspiration within You and to move toward new experiences and challenges. Here with us Your face, Your Body, Your hands and feet can relax. 

The cleaning of the cabins starts well before the ship arrives to the harbor. I suite and Lyx cabins are cleaned during the cruise, other cruise cabins are emptied only trash bins. The passengers may store their baggage (misspelled) and their personal belongings in the cabin until the ferry arrives to the harbor. We kindly ask you to leave the cabin door open when the journey is reaching its end.  

Here we have a ball pit, slide, toys, pain tools the toilet and nursery for the children. During school holidays there is a play leader for children. NB! Parents are responsible for their children. 

The latest dance hits choose the DJ. Modern sound technology and impressing Light suits all who value the trendiest beats. 

These examples are harmless. Nobody will get hurt if it is the hits that choose the DJ rather than the opposite. But, how can I trust that information concerning more important things (what to do when the boat starts sinking) is correct? Can I be 100% that the staff will understand what I say if there is no intention to use the language correctly? (Here I would like to mention that staff with name tags indicating that they know Swedish rather spoke English). It would be fine with me that Swedish wouldn't be used at all - but if you are going to use it, do it properly! Am I a happy customer? Not really.

Language Mishaps

As we all know, Finland has two official languages - Finnish and Swedish. Hence all product packaging comes in two languages, so that the entire population will understand what they are buying. You get the gist, right?

Unfortunately - and due to the human factor, I believe - things can sometimes go awfully wrong.

The Finnish version of the text tells us that the product was made in Lithuania (Liettuassa), whereas the Swedish translation claims that it is Latvia (Lettland) where the bread was baked.

Maybe I have too little to do at the moment, but I did write an e-mail to customer care asking for more details. I would very much like to know where my bread was baked, but even more I'd like the information to be correct. 

Ночь, улица, фонарь, аптека, Бессмысленный и тусклый свет.

Look what I found on Wikipedia: one of my favourite poems by Aleksandr Blok!

***

Night, street, lantern, drugstore.

Meaningless and dull light.

Live another quarter of a century -

Everything will be the same. There is no way out.

 

You will die – then start again from the beginning.

And everything will be repeated like before:

Night, the channel’s icy ripples,

Drugstore, street, lantern. 

****

Gondolatok a könyvtárban [HU: Reflections In The Library]

There has been very little translation and very little Hungarian in this blog recently. But, when stumbling into a poem about a library, I just had to give a go at it.

Gondolatok a könyvtárban was written by Hungarian poet Mihály Vörösmarty. It’s a long poem and can be found in its entirety here. Here’s the translation for the first lines.

Hová lépsz most, gondold meg, oh tudós,
Az emberiségnek elhányt rongyain
Komor betűkkel, mint a téli éj,
Leírva áll a rettentő tanulság:
"Hogy míg nyomorra milliók születnek,
Néhány ezernek jutna üdv a földön,
Ha istenésszel, angyal érzelemmel
Használni tudnák éltök napjait."

 

Where are you heading now, think, oh scientist,

To humankind they throw rags

In gloomy letters, like a  winter night,

Written down the scary lesson stands:

“While millions are born into poverty,

A few thousand could be welcomed to the world,

If they knew how to apply God’s wisdom, the angel’s emotion

to their lived days.”

Láska (Sk: Love)

It’s been a while since I translated Slovak poetry. Today I finally found some spare time for this highly satisfying endeavour. Playing with languages is fun.

The poet who wrote this poem is called Ondrej Nagaj and he has been active for quite a few decades. The original Slovak version is below the translation.

 

Love cannot be encountered

everyday.

For the lucky ones -

like a bright star it appears

once, twice in a lifetime,

others will not touch upon it.

It entered my atmosphere

like a meteorite,

like a comet,

when I was living tiredly

the evening twilight flew

into my soul.

From your brightness

a pair of yellow rays

touched me with their

warm shiver

and became for me

the golden key.

For that I so happily

live on Earth.

 

Original version by Ondrej Nagaj:

Každý deň sa láska
stretnúť nedá.
Pre šťastných raz
-- dvakrát v živote
objaví sa
ako jasná hviezda,
iný sa jej ani nedotkne.
Vstúpila si
v moju atmosféru
ako bolid,
ako kométa,
keď na dušu
žitím unavenú
mi večerný súmrak
prilietal.
Z tvojho jasu
zopár žltých lúčov
dotklo sa ma
teplým zachvením
a stalo sa
pre mňa zlatým kľúčom.
Preto tak rád
žijem na Zemi.
- Aj kalina je kvet, 2000

The Good Man

Dobrý človek

Celú noc nespal. Pre bolesť. Nie však v srdci.
V ňom vždycky horel plameň nehynúci,
pahreba lásky, čistý ľudský zrak.
Za také dary letíš hoci nad oblak,
za také dary tvoje srdce rastie
a rozhadzuje svetom najprostejšie šťastie,
láskavý tlkot, najvrúcejší cit,
ten, ktorý nevie ani napalm spopolniť.
Celú noc nespí. Na všetkých myslí ľudí,
ktorých už bolesť nikdy neprebudí,
budú rásť pod slnkom, čo nikdy nehasne,
a šepoce si: To bude úžasné...

- Vladimír Reisel, Milovaní milujúci, 1954

 

The Good Man

He didn’t sleep all night. Because of pain. But not in the heart.
In it the never-ending flame was always burning,
the ember of love, the pure human vision.
For such gifts one flies above the clouds,
for such gifts one’s heart will glow
and scatter the world with the simplest happiness,
the gentle beat, the most ardent feeling,
the one that not even napalm can cremate.
All night he doesn’t sleep. He thinks of all those people,
whom pain has never awaken,
who will grow under the sun, that will never go out,
and he whispers to himself: it will be wonderful…
 
- Vladimír Reisel, Milovaní milujúci, 1954

Byť (SK: To Be)

 

Byť

Byť ako strom, a nie ako trstina,

čo sa už pod vánkom zohýna.

Žiť ako strom, z ktorého robia

stožiare i hračky.

Žiť ako strom a umrieť postojačky.

To človek vydá, čo je v ňom.

Teda aj padnúť ako strom.

A potom, keď už zotlie celý,

byť práchnom, ktoré krotí včely

a núti ich tvoriť nie jed,

ale predovšetkým med.

Milan Ferko - z rukopisu, 1999

 

 

To be

To be like tree, and not like a reed,

which already bends under the breeze.

To live like a tree, of which

masts and toys are made.

To live like a tree and die while standing.

Man gives away what's inside him.

So he falls like a tree, too.

And then, when it's all rotten,

to be tinder, that tames the bees

and forces them to make not poison,

but above all honey.

 

Milan Ferko – from manuscripts, 1999 [translastion my own]

First Attempt

 

* * *Po kvapke tvojej lásky som dnes túžil,

ja, vetrom rozochvený list.
Možno mi slnko namaľuje na krík zopár ruží,
za tebou musím na kraj sveta ísť.
Na ceste sa mi biela šálka rozlomila,
z dňa zostal už len zlatý pás.
Noc, moja dobrá modrá víla,
nezahas svetlo, čo je v nás!
Potom ťa pojmem tíško za ruku,
ty si tá rosa krištáľová,
čo padá za skorého rána na lúku.
Na pásik tejto hnedej zeme
my budeme sa vracať stále znova,
kým spolu koniec leta nenájdeme.

Dezider Banga - Horiaca višňa, 1983

 

For the drops of your affection I longed today,

I, the leaf shaken by the wind.

Maybe the sun paints me on the bush of a few roses,

for you I must go to the end of the world.

On the road I was broken by a white cup,

only a golden strip remained of the day.

The night, my blue fairy godmother,

unveil the light that is in you!

Then I will take you quietly by the hand,

you are the crystal dew,

that falls from early morning onto the meadow.

To the strip of this brown earth,

we will return together, over and over again,

until we find the end of summer.

- Dezider Banga - Horiaca višňa, 1983 -

(Translation my own)

Oh, Spring!

 Rainy Saturday mornings are a good time to confront the Russian language. Translation, accompanied by a big yellow cup filled with black coffee somewhere nearby, is a highly satisfying task. However, I feel my English isn't sufficient for this.

*****************'

Oh, spring – endless and limitless -
endless and limitless is the dream!
Life, I recognise you! I accept you!
And welcome you with the sound of a shield.
 
Misfortune, I accept you,
And luck, I greet you!
There's no shame in the enchanting land
of crying, nor in the mystery of laughter.
 
Sleepless disputes, I accept you,
The morning lingers in the dark window curtains,
So the spring appears annoyed, drunken
To my bloodshot eyes.

I accept the deserted villages!
And the wells of man-made cities!
The bleached vastness of the skies,
And the longing of the working labour! 

I meet you at the threshold,
With the wild wind in your serpentine locks,
And the enigmatic name of God,
On your frozen, pressed lips.

Before this hostile meeting
I never throw away the shield ...
And you never turn your back...
But above us – there's the intoxicating dream! 

And I look, and measure the hostility,
while hating, cursing and loving:
The torment, the death - yet I know -
That all the same: I accept you!
 
[translation: my own]


Original poem by Alexander Blok 

О, весна без конца и без краю -
Без конца и без краю мечта!
Узнаю тебя, жизнь! Принимаю!
И приветствую звоном щита!
 
Принимаю тебя, неудача,
И удача, тебе мой привет!
В заколдованной области плача,
В тайне смеха - позорного нет!
 
Принимаю бессонные споры,
Утро в завесах темных окна,
Чтоб мои воспаленные взоры
Раздражала, пьянила весна!
 
Принимаю пустынные веси!
И колодцы земных городов!
Осветленный простор поднебесий
И томления рабьих трудов!
 
И встречаю тебя у порога -
С буйным ветром в змеиных кудрях,
С неразгаданным именем бога
На холодных и сжатых губах...
 
Перед этой враждующей встречей
Никогда я не брошу щита...
Никогда не откроешь ты плечи...
Но над нами - хмельная мечта!
 
И смотрю, и вражду измеряю,
Ненавидя, кляня и любя:
За мученья, за гибель - я знаю -
Все равно: принимаю тебя!

На ногах не стоит человек.

There is something special about travelling by train. It’s peaceful, people are quiet. It’s the perfect place to read poetry and think about life and other important things.
Below you can find the first lines from Alexander Blok’s poem двенадцать (The Twelve). The translation is my own.

     Черный вечер.
     Белый снег.
     Ветер, ветер!
     На ногах не стоит человек.
     Ветер, ветер -
     На всем божьем свете!

     Завивает ветер
     Белый снежок.
     Под снежком - ледок.
     Скользко, тяжко,
     Всякий ходок
     Скользит - ах, бедняжка!

Black evening.

White snow. 

Wind, wind!

The man cannot stand on his feet.

Wind, wind!

On all of God’s earth!

The wind is twisting

The white snow.

Under the snow, there is a crust of ice.

Slippery, hard,

Every walker slips – oh, you poor thing!

Среди миров/Among the Worlds

Среди миров, в мерцании светил
Одной Звезды я повторяю имя...
Не потому, чтоб я Её любил,
А потому, что я томлюсь с другими. 
И если мне сомненье тяжело,
Я у Неё одной ищу ответа,
Не потому, что от Неё светло,
А потому, что с Ней не надо света.

(Иннокентий Фёдорович Анненский)
_________________________________

Own (free) translation

Among the worlds, in the hazy glimmer
I repeat the name of one single star...
Not because I love her so intensly,
but because I'm tortured by the others.
And if the doubs exhaust me,
I seek the answer only from her,
Not because she's shining so brightly,
but because with her I need no light.

(Innokenty Annensky)