Velimir Khlebnikov
The Tangled Wood

The tangled wood was full of sound
the forest screamed, the forest groaned
with fear
to see the spear-man beast his spear.

Why does hart's horn hang heavy
with the moving mark of love?
Arrow's flash of metal hits a haunch,
and reckons right. Now beast is broken

to his knees, beaten to the ground.
His eyes look deep at death.
The horses clatter, snort, and chatter:
«We bring the Tall Ones. Useless to run.»

Useless only your exquisite motion,
your almost feminine face. No action
can save you. You fly from rack and ruin,
and searching spear-man follows fast.

Panting horses always closer,
branching antlers always lower,
twangling bowstrings over and over,
nor help nor hart from hurt and hazard.

But he rears abruptly, bristles, roars —
and shows a lion's cruel claws.
With lazy ease he touches, teases —
teaches the trick of terror.

Acquiescent and still,
they fall to fill their graves.
He rises rampant. Regal roar.
And around him everywhere lay beaten slaves.

Translated by Paul Schmidt