Georgy Ivanov
Unharnessed, the white horse ambles along...

Unharnessed, the white horse ambles along.
Where are you going, white horse?
The sun shines, an early spring breeze
Rumples the shirts and handkerchiefs in the garden.

I who one day took my leave of Russia
(On a night preceeding an arctic dawn)
Did not turn round, nor cross myself,
Nor notice how suddenly I came to be
In this obscure European hole.

If only I were bored . . . . But I am not bored.
Life was lost, but I cherish my peace.
I receive letters from dead friends
And, reading them, burn with relief
In the blue late winter snow.

Translated by Daniel Weissbort