Ilya Ehrenburg
The Trumpet

I am the trumpet blown by Time;
I have to call — they may believe.
But who will know the truth sublime
That even brass can weep and grieve?

He forced my lips that had been dumb
To howl with prophecy and fright:
I made from boredom — martyrdom;
The tragic eve — from simple night.

He came — and no one could withstand.
What did they say? Whom did they call?
So thousands roared throughout the land,
And Master Time — he blew them all.

It was not I who turned the pages
With steady hand and unafraid,
Presenting to the court of ages
Hordes of blind masons on parade.

I did not speak, I but replied:
For, struck by Time, my mouth is torn,
For I am not the mighty tide,
But only Man, of woman born.

The trumpet lives. But who can see
That by this brass, with blood imbued,
I glorify the victory
of those by whom I was subdued?

Translated by Yakov Hornstein