Ancient Field

ПОЛЕ СТАРИННОЕ

о Божий
в творении Облика из Ничего
зримо пробивший
и неумолкающий
РАЗ

 

 

 

 

 

 

в образе Поля

Source: Gennady Aygi, Razgovory na rasstoianii (St. Petersburg: Limbus Press, 2001), p. 36

ANCIENT FIELD

o Divine
conjuring Countenance from Nothing
visibly pierced
and indefatigable
ONCE

 

 

 

 

 

 

in the image of the Field

Translated by the Russian Reader. Thanks to KKML for the suggestion and Comrade Koganzon for the assistance.

Gennady Aygi (Marina Razbezhkina, director, 2001)

Gennady Aygi (1934–2006), one of the most original of modern Russian poets, was born in the village of Shaymurzino, in the Chuvash Autonomous Republic, some 450 miles east of Moscow. His father was a village schoolteacher, his maternal grandfather a priest of the ancient Chuvash religion. Although he wrote mainly in Russian, he eventually became the national poet of Chuvashia, having published volumes of Chuvash poetry, translations from French, Polish, Russian and other languages, and an Anthology of Chuvash Poetry.

Expelled from the Gorky Literary Institute for his links with Pasternak, Aygi found a society of like-minded artists in the creative Moscow underground. For ten years he worked at the Mayakovsky Museum, organizing exhibitions of modern art, but generally he led a life of poverty, constantly harassed by officialdom; only with the advent of perestroika did he begin to be published in the Soviet Union and to accept numerous invitations to travel to the West. But from the 1960s onwards his Russian-language poetry was published and acclaimed throughout the world, being translated into more than twenty languages. Living mainly in Moscow, he was married four times and left seven children.

Source: New Directions Books

“ever more westerly the distance”

ever more westerly the distance
footsteps steadily darken,
the stars still do not suffice
to think about the water,
but the first bridges —
predawn bridges as it were —
fracture the night
brilliantly nowhere.

child, let’s bid farewell here,
in the coldness of this line
the word’s color is forever white,
only meaning is not eternal.
the february water
is even blacker than the light
looming over it,
more unheard of than the darkness

Vladimir Kazakov, Selected Works, vol. 3: Poems (Moscow: Hylaea, 1995), p. 106. Source: LitMir. Photo and translation by the Russian Reader. Thanks to KKML for the suggestion.