Thursday, 12 December 2013

The prisoner's dream



















A darksome night of winter,
Dead silence without end!
Where are you, my beloved,
My brave and faithful friend?

Your image, pure and lovely,
In spite of bolt and bar,
Before me comes; your fond, clear glance
Shines on me like a star.

The long, long years of parting,
With grief and longing rife,
The hand weighed down by bondage,
Pains of a shattered life—

Not all could dim that image,
Your sweet head, golden bright;
Still o'er my thoughts it reigneth,
Unchanged its magic might.

In this cold grave, I, living,
Am buried from the sun;
Monotonously, mournfully,
The years pass, one by one.

Sometimes in this dead stillness
Is heard a groaning deep;
The heart beats slowly, wearily,
And thought is lost in sleep.

But through the gloom your image
Shines like a magic lamp;
Like a bright beam, it drives away
The dark cell's cold and damp.

For you is all forgotten;
I far away have flown
In dreams—and then my heart, dear love,
Is filled with you alone.

What fate has fallen to you
Of sorrow or delight?
Your path across life's meadow,
Has it been smooth and bright?

P. Polivanov 

translated by Alice Stone Blackwell


(Picture: Solitary Confinement, David Alfaro Siqueiros-1961)

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