Marina Tsvetaeva
Disciple. 3. Setting sun, good and kind...

3

Setting sun, good and kind,
without the noon cruelty
of the mid-day one
who’d rather scorch than warm.

Evening sun, sun from afar,
like the star that you are,
sun of nearly night,
grandfatherly, kind and wise,
sun that’s long since learned
to show mercy to our eyes,
simply, easily, straightforwardly royal,
eerily approachable,
evening sun, more beloved sun
to the one who sings you this hymn.

* * *

“And there was darkness over all the earth,”
— that’s what happens when a god’s crucified,
dying on high, as you do each eventide.

Sun overthrown, dethroned by the blackness,
the gathering rabble of shadows,
never forget who you are, be Phoebus!
The setting sun’s last glances aren’t cast down the vale,
his last gaze blazes straight up, lighting sky.

Let not your last gilding look linger
on such belfries as just happen to be around,
let mine be the last bell tower
to feel the soft power,
the alchemy of your setting rays.

Translated by Seraphina Powell