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OUR LIFE M o n th ly , p u b lis h e d by U k ra in ia n N a tio n a l W om en's L e a g u e o f A m e ric a v o l. x lv iii MAY 1991 Editor: Marta Baczynsky P E T R O K A R M A N S K Y (1878-1956) THE MOTHER Work, endless work! My back is numb, My hands have lost all feeling. My God! And shall I never rest From torments past revealing? Wait, Sabbaths can bring healing.... The night has come, all go to rest, All sink in slumber mild; But still exhausted mother wakes To soothe an ailing child. Work, endless work! My back is numb, My hands have lost all feeling. My God! And shall I never rest From torments past revealing? Wait, with the night comes healing... The holy Sabbath has arrived And all in languor drowse, While Mother, in a stubble field, Has gone to tend the cows. Work, endless work! My back is numb, My hands have lost all feeling. My God! And shall I never rest From torments past revealing? Wait, winter can bring healing. (From The Ukrainian Poets, University of Toronto Press, 1963. Translated into English verse by C.H. Andrusyshen and Watson Kirkconnell.) Микола Анастазієвський. "Моя мати". Аквареля. My kola Anastasievskyj. “My Mother". Watercolor. The winter comes. In bed at night Through sleep all sorrows dwindle. Only mother cannot rest From toiling at the spindle. Work, endless work! My back is numb, My hands have lost all feeling. My God! And shall I never rest From torments past revealing? Yes, for the grave brings healing! The mother died. And thus went out The whole home's cheering fire. The orphans weep: Who now will tend Our clamorous desire? “НАШЕ ЖИТТЯ”, ТРАВЕНЬ 1991 19
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