Osip Mandelshtam
On Foot

To M. L. Lozinsky

Nearing mysterious mountain tops,
I can’t defeat the fear I feel;
content with every swallow aloft,
I love how the bells rise into a peal.

I’m an ancient walker. A chasm reveals
a sagging bridge I approach and cross;
I think I can hear the snow uncongeal,
how the whole of time ticks on stone clocks.

But I’m no traveller whose name would stop
your eye on pages the light will steal.
There’s a grief I sing but keep concealed.

The flying bells bear my soul off,
but avalanches roll in the hills for real.
No music pulls me back from the drop.

Translated by Alistair Noon