Nikolay Zabolotsky
Somewhere in a field near Magadan...

Somewhere in a field near Magadan,
Despairing and fearing for their life,
Through the swirling, freezing mists
They trudge behind the sledges.
From the soldiers’ iron roar,
From the preying gang of thieves,
Only the first aid post can save them here,
Or being sent for flour into town.
Two sad old Russian men, they walked
Huddling in their pea jackets,
Remembering their village huts
Far away, and longing for them.
They’d no heart left,
Far from friends and family,
And weariness that had bent their backs,
Tonight bit deep into their souls.
Life unwound above them,
Clothed in the forms of nature.
But the stars, those symbols of freedom,
No longer gazed on men.
The wonderful mystery of the universe
Filled the theater of the northern stars,
But its penetrating flame was powerless
Any more to reach into men’s hearts.
The blizzard howled, burying
The frozen stumps of trees
And, seated on them, the two old men,
Not looking at each other, froze.
The horses stood, the work was over,
They were done with mortal affairs.
A sweet drowsiness lulled them
And led them sobbing, into distant parts.
They were beyond the call of guards,
The convoy would never reach them now.
Only the stars of Magadan
Sparkled, rising overhead.

Translated by Daniel Weissbort