• Язык:
    Английский (English)

Prelude to Tent


Of you, Africa, deafened by howling
and the clatter of hooves, surrounded by fire and smoke,
it is of you they speak in Heaven,
seraphim whispering your name.

And opening your Gospel,
the story of your terrible, your wonderful life,
they think of the fumbling new angel
ordered, O reckless one, to watch over you.

You, hanging like a great pear
on the ancient tree of Eurasia,
listen to what you've done, what you've dreamed,
the song of your beast-like soul.

Blood-linked to you, I will tell
of chiefs in leopard skins
leading mobs of sullen soldiers through dark forests,
and to victory;

Of villages with ancient idols
laughing with evil lips,
and lions stalking above villages,
clanging their tails on their ribs.

Only, give me a smooth road
there where no man has walked,
let that unknown black river
flow with my name.

And — a final favor,
before I go to the holy places —
let me die under that same sycamore
where Mary rested with Christ.

Другие переводы:

  • Английский
    Ольга Слободкина
  • Чешский
    Мария Марчанова

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