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22 «ЖІНОЧИЙ СВІТ» Michael Kociubynsky 1 REVERIES Translated by M. S. уч THE CLOUDS When I gaze at the clouds, those children of the earth and the sun, which have scaled the heights and are wandering ever higher along the azure path... it seems to me that I see the soul of a poet. 1 recognize it. It sails along serene and white, longing for ce- lestial pleasures, transparent and light, with a golden smile on the rosy lips and trembling with the desire of a song. I see й. Large and ponderous, full of longing and unshed tears, pregnant with all of the wordly tribulations, dismal with grievances toward the unfortunate world, it rolls into black waves, breathes heavily with overburdened. lungs, shields its fa from the sun and wi tears weeps bitterly until it is relieved. its 8 h warm I know it. It is uneasy, consumed with fire, all aflame with a great and righteous wrath. It speeds recklessly over the heaven and drives the indolent earth with a golden rod... On... further, in the air and it shouts so that all might he that all might a- waken. on. I understand it. contented, dis- searching... secking an answer 10 the eternal question: “why? wherefore?”... it lowers its grayish wings atop of the world so that the sun might not be seen, so that it might wade in the shadows of the ine mist о always earth and sorrow О poet! I do not wonder that you love the clouds! And I you trace with envious longing the mpathize with you as cloud which subme melts and perishes in the azure desert ALONE I listen to songs which no one hears. "Різак is my soul singing. Always and everywhere I hear its delightful refrain: “You are alone!” And nothing will drown — I know it — nothing will drown this quiet song; in the moaning of the wind, in the laughter of spring, in the roar of thunder and in the instorm... 1 al- downpour of a ways hear: “Alone... alone...” І am surrounded by people. Their eyes glisten, their voices tremble... the mind spins a silver thread... the heart, a golden one... the life splashes over the roars and play and when the chalice of happiness touches my lips I hear the familiar requiem of my soul: “But I wes wave of shores, you are alone!” From my heart there also flows a stream into the sea of human nd although warm hand is extended for a friendly clasp there where it is needed, although my soul is open to admit a stranger’s sorrow as the blossom is open to receive the dew, nevertheless... and yet... 1 hear, ises somewhere from the depths nal damnation : woe. my ha! You are, nevertheless, alone!” And even close to my heart there beats a loving heart, when two sparks unite in the flame of happiness, when it seems that the mystery of the Sphinx із solved... even then like a black cloud in my breast the dis- tressing and arrogant outery : “And 1. when Even then there whirl - am alone!” WEARINESS Y SOUL is weary and even the regret which I feel only re- minds me of a smile frozen on the features of a corpse. I harbor a grievance toward heaven for the clouds which pass over it do not leave any kind of a trace; once more it becomes bright and blue. І harbor a grievance toward the th for the shadows which cover са it will move to another spot and where it was once gloomy and dis- mal the golden sun will appear again. With regret I gaze at the water; as a mirror it reflects the beauty of the world and when it is dis- contented it even breaks the lines and colors and creates its own beauty. I harbor a grievance toward the autumnal plant; every shrub con- ceals within it the hope of life and some day will shoot forth new stal While Т While the ashes of my hopes are suspended above me as a stationary cloud, while the sun of happiness can not chase the shadows out of my soul, while the mirror of my soul becomes blurred and dim, re- flects nothing, as that which sheds everything and becomes barren — will never blossom again. And why do not I, a superior being, live as the lifeless the heaven, dead earth, the water, the plant? Should inquire? I don’t want to... I have рез come weary.
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