Boris Slutsky
Dante`s tomb

Dante’s tomb. Quietly and solemnly
we enter here — tempo andante.
We can’t well explain it,
but we understand: Dante... Dante...

Dante — Dante, and yet we are no more
than what we are. There’s a frontier here.
Feeling no envy, pain, we enter
the tomb, crumpling our caps.

Yes, Dante. He has remained,
and we, whose fame lasts two, three
years,
dare not throw down in his vicinity
the lots we drew.

While the guides with gusto
tell us at long length about his fate,
we think of ourselves
with vanity
                 and disrespect.

In the very depths of our being,
the luminary glows of a sudden:
the sun shines out in unexpected splendor,
the sun which was his guiding light.

Translated by George Reavey