Varlam Shalamov
Pursued by howling foes...

Pursued by howling foes,
I run a mortal race;
The newly fallen snow
Is so nice for chase.

The hooting, tally-ho'ing
Surrounds me, high-pitched.
Saliva bubbles and foams in
The jaws of an old bitch.

The world of rimy snouts,
Of canine bloodshot eyes,
They all are so proud,
The hound's role is prized.

And setting back my ears,
I run for life, half slain
By suffocating fear
Amidst the shining plain.

I'm running, running, running,
But know all the same:
It ends my life, this funny,
This ancient hunting game.

Translated by Natasha Gotskaya