Dedicated to I. D. Rudinsky
Sun’s golden arc
Hot like a red coal,
Sent down its spark
And it warmed my soul;
Although, I am not sure
Now, I hope that I could
Expect from my future
To bring something good;
The warmth brought me back
To life, the light illuminated me
I forgot the past, all that I lack
And all that is lacking in me.
Warmed by the Light
My blood caught fire,
My soul shined, alight
My spirit was inspired.
I feel restored by the ray,
My heart still beats stronger,
These good feelings are here to stay
Even when the sun shines no longer;
On the trip I am forced to make
Love goes with me from the start.
It banishes anguish, fear and ache
And it gives freedom to my heart.
И. Д. Рудинскому
Солнца луч золотой
Бросил искру свою
И своей теплотой
Согрел душу мою.
И надежда в груди
Затаилась моей;
Что-то жду впереди
От грядущих я дней.
Оживило тепло,
Озарил меня свет.
Я забыл, что прошло
И чего во мне нет.
Загорелася кровь
Жарче дня и огня.
И светло и тепло
На душе у меня.
Чувства полны добра,
Сердце бьется сильней.
Оживил меня луч
Теплотою своей.
Я с любовью иду
На указанный путь,
И от мук и тревог
Не волнуется грудь.
«The greedy saline soil had eaten everything. / I rooted out the twisted, writhen roots of / The vines that curled here once upon a time – / The earth was nubbly, desiccated, scabby, / Like a feverish sick woman’s lips... / Beneath its lacerated sole my foot / Grew calloused from lean...»
«So Hagar sits in obloquy / And gushing piteously / The spring pours out a threnody: / Be-er la-chai ro-yi. Those lands belong to Abraham, / But this expanse – to none: / In front of her, the wilderness / To Shur itself does run. Despair, despair instinctual! / In her Egyptian eyes,...»
«Not for safe-keeping for awhile, – / For the altar, not donation, – / For the fire, the fire, its oblation / Rapt Israel brought in times gone by! And pleasing to Jehovah’s nostrils / Was smoke from sacrificial fires, / Because a consecrated offering / In truth, can not be taken b...»
«Don’t seduce me into captivity, / Don’t entice me with hearth and home, / Don’t immure me living and breathing / Inside four walls. There’s no chamber for which a poet / Would exchange her homelessness, – / That’s why the cuckoo cuckoos / That she hasn’t got a nest.»