"Christ has risen" — they chant in the temple,
But I feel sad... my soul is silent;
The world is full of blood and tears,
And this hymn in front of the altars
Sounds so insulting.
If He were among us and could see,
What our glorious age has achieved,
How brothers have learned to hate each other,
How humans are disgraced,
And if here, in this luxurious temple,
He heard, "Christ is risen",
How bitter would be the tears He would shed
In front of the crowd!
Oh brethren, let it come to pass
That in this world there would not be any masters or slaves,
The groans and curses would fall silent,
And so would the clatter of swords, and the ringing of shackles, —
Oh, then, and only then, as a hymn of freedom,
Let it thunder: "Christ has risen!"
And all the peoples will answer us:
"Christ has risen indeed!"
«Христос воскрес», — поют во храме;
Но грустно мне... душа молчит:
Мир полон кровью и слезами,
И этот гимн пред алтарями
Так оскорбительно звучит.
Когда б Он был меж нас и видел,
Чего достиг наш славный век,
Как брата брат возненавидел,
Как опозорен человек,
И если б здесь, в блестящем храме
«Христос воскрес» Он услыхал,
Какими б горькими слезами
Перед толпой Он зарыдал!
Пусть на земле не будет, братья,
Ни властелинов, ни рабов,
Умолкнут стоны и проклятья,
И стук мечей, и звон оков, —
О лишь тогда, как гимн свободы,
Пусть загремит: «Христос воскрес!»
И нам ответят все народы:
«Христос воистину воскрес!»
«My talent is pitiful, my voice not loud, / but I am living; somewhere in the world / someone looks kindly on my life; far off / a distant fellow-man will read my words / and find my being; and, who knows, my soul / will raise an echo in his soul, and I / who found a friend in my own time...»
«This is how hunger begins: / first you wake in good cheer, / then weakness begins, / and then boredom, / and then comes the losss / of the power of swift reason / and then comes calm — / and then the horror.»
«Here’s the rain crashing down, / time has stopped. / The clocks go on helplessly knocking. / Grow, grass, you don’t need time. / Speak, Holy Spirit, you don’t need words.»
«Impossible almost, for you were always here: / In the shade of blessed limes, / in hospitals and bockades, / In the prison-cell, and where there were evil birds, / Lush grasses, and terrifying water. / How everything ha...»