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Teen Poetry #2

Easter

Master
Senior Member

since 1999-08-18

Posts 1867
Boston, MA

0 posted 1999-12-31 03:10 PM

*This is a translation of poem by Boris Pasternak, from the book Dr. Zhivago.

There’s still a twilight of the night.
The world’s so young in its proceeding,
And countless stars in sky abide,
And each one, like the day, is bright,
And if the Earth contained that might,
She’d sleep through Easter in delight,
Under the Psalter reading.

There’s still a twilight of the night.
It’s far too early, it appears,
That fields eternally subside,
Right from crossroad to the side,
And ‘til the sunrise and the light,
There is a thousand years.

The Mother Earth, of clothes deprived,
Has nothing else that she could wear,
To strikes the church bells through night
Or echo chorus in the air.

And from the Maundy Thursday night
Right ‘til the Easter Eve,
The water bores the coastal side
And whirlpools heave.

The forest—in exposed expanse,
To celebrate Christ’s Holy times,
As though in prayer, calmly stands,
In gathered stems and trunks of pines.

And in the city, in one place,
As if a mob commenced,
The naked trees sincerely gaze
Upon the Church’s fence.

Their eyes are fully filled with rage.
And their concern is heard.
The gardens slowly leave their cage,
The earth shakes wildly in its range;
They’re burying the Lord.

They see a light that dimly glows,
Black kerchiefs and the candle rows,
And weeping eyes--
And suddenly, there’s a procession,
With holy shroud of the Christ
And every birch with a concession
Along the entrance subsides

Upon the sidewalk, ‘round the square,
They walk along the edge.
Into the vestibule with care,
They bring the spring, the vernal flair,
A scent of Eucharist in the air
And springtime rage.

And March is throwing snow around
Upon those gathered on Church ground.
As though the person just walked out
Opened the shrine, took what he found
And gave it all away

The singing lasts throughout the night,
Those who have wept enough, they lastly,
Stroll gently, calmly walk outside,
Onto the land under the light,
They read the Psalter or Apostles

But after midnight all will quiet,
Hearing the vernal lecture,
That if we wait just for a while
We could push death into exile
By holy resurrection

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