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- Tue, 22 Feb 2022 13:17:53 EST FIiK6Civ No.71784
File: 1645553873943.png -(300451B / 293.41KB, 400x507) Thumbnail displayed, click image for full size. Translated Poems
Days go by and nights go by
and summers end;
leaves turn yellow, leaves turn dry;
my eyes are dead.
My thoughts are asleep,
my heart doesn’t beat,
and all things sleep.
And I’m wondering:
Am I alive
or barely living
or just wandering?
If only I could laugh
or even cry.
Tell me, fate, where are you?
Have I none?
If you can’t spare a good one, Lord,
then how about a bad one?
Just don’t let me sleepwalk
and lose my heart
and roll through life
like a rotten log.
Let me live,
let my heart live,
let me love.
And if not—
to hell with the world!
It’s bad to be in chains
and die a slave.
But it’s worse to sleep
and sleep in freedom
and to fall asleep forever
without leaving a trace.
Did you live? Did you die?
Who cares?
Tell me, fate, where are you?
I have none!

-Taras Shevchenko (born Ukraine 1814. died St. Petersburg 1861)


I am only fluid with English, but I don't think most poems translate to English very well.
>>
Taras Shevchenko - Tue, 22 Feb 2022 13:20:07 EST FIiK6Civ No.71785 Reply
>>71784

These are great, however.


As the sun sets and hills grow dark,
as the birdsong ends and fields fall silent,
as the people laugh and take their rest,
I watch.
My heart hurries
to the twilit gardens of Ukraine.
And I hurry.
O, how I hurry with my thoughts,
as my heart yearns for rest.
As the fields grow dark,
as the groves grow dark,
as the hills grow dark,
I see a star.
And I weep.
Hey, you star! Have you reached Ukraine?
Do dark eyes scour the blue sky for you?
Or don’t they care?
May they sleep if they don’t.
May they know nothing of my fate
>>
Taras Shevchenko - Tue, 22 Feb 2022 13:20:58 EST FIiK6Civ No.71786 Reply
>>71785

If only I could see
my fields and steppes again.
Won’t the good Lord let me,
in my old age,
be free?
I’d go to Ukraine,
I’d go back home.
There they’d greet me—
glad to see the old man.
There I’d rest,
I’d pray to God,
There I’d—but why go on?
There will be nothing.
How am I to live in slavery
with no hope?
Do tell me,
please,
lest I go crazy
>>
Taras Shevchenko - Tue, 22 Feb 2022 13:21:48 EST FIiK6Civ No.71787 Reply
>>71786

When I die,
let me rest, let me lie
amidst Ukraine’s broad steppes.
Let me see
the endless fields and steep slopes
I hold so dear.
Let me hear
the Dnipro’s great roar.
And when the blood
of Ukraine’s foes flows
into the blue waters of the sea,
that’s when I’ll forget
the fields and hills
and leave it all
and pray to God.
Until then, I know no God.
So bury me, rise up,
and break your chains.
Water your freedom
with the blood of oppressors.
And then remember me
with gentle whispers
and kind words
in the great family
of the newly free.
>>
Taras Shevchenko - Tue, 22 Feb 2022 13:45:14 EST FIiK6Civ No.71788 Reply
or if you prefer:


When I die, then make my grave
High on an ancient mound,
In my own beloved Ukraine,
In steppeland without bound:
Whence one may see wide-skirted wheatland,
Dnipro's steep-cliffed shore,
There whence one may hear the blustering
River wildly roar.
Till from Ukraine to the blue sea
It bears in fierce endeavour
The blood of foemen — then I'll leave
Wheatland and hills forever:
Leave all behind, soar up until
Before the throne of God
I'll make my prayer. For till that hour
I shall know naught of God.
Make my grave there — and arise,
Sundering your chains,
Bless your freedom with the blood
Of foemen's evil veins!
Then in that great family,
A family new and free,
Do not forget, with good intent
Speak quietly of me.
>>
Taras Shevchenko - Tue, 22 Feb 2022 13:46:51 EST FIiK6Civ No.71789 Reply
>>71784

or


When I am dead, bury me
In my beloved Ukraine,
My tomb upon a grave mound high
Amid the spreading plain,
So that the fields, the boundless steppes,
The Dnieper's plunging shore
My eyes could see, my ears could hear
The mighty river roar.
When from Ukraine the Dnieper bears
Into the deep blue sea
The blood of foes ... then will I leave
These hills and fertile fields—
I'll leave them all and fly away
To the abode of God,
And then I'll pray .... But until that day
I know nothing of God.
Oh bury me, then rise ye up
And break your heavy chains
And water with the tyrants' blood
The freedom you have gained.
And in the great new family,
The family of the free,
With softly spoken, kindly word
Remember also me.




If only I could read 'little Russian'.
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