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КРАПІВА

    Кандрат Крапіва


    Я ў мастацкім агародзе
    Толькі марная трава.
    А якая? Смех, дый годзе:
    Я — пякучка-крапіва.

    Я расту вось тут пад плотам
    I не так даўно ўзышла,
    А ўжо многім абармотам
    Рукі-ногі папякла.

    Хто палез за агуркамі,
    Хай той носіць пухіры —
    Мяне голымі рукамі
    Асцярожна, брат, бяры.

    Хто сустрэўся быў са мною,
    Дакрануўся раз ці два,
    Дык той ведае ўжо, хто я:
    Я — пякучка-крапіва.



The Nettle

    Kandrat Krapiva

    In Art's noble kitchen
    Vain and worthless weed I lie,
    Of what kind? Fit but for laughter!
    I am the stinging nettle — I.

    Here beneath the fence I
    No great time have grown as yet,
    But a host of knaves I've worried,
    Arms and legs with stings beset.

    Who comes here after cucumbers,
    Let that man my blisters wear —
    Pluck me, friend, but well remember —
    Careful, if your hands are bare!

    Who shall meet with me, then let him
    Touch me once or twice and try!
    Then he'll know, and not forget me;
    I am the stinging nettle — I!


[1922]




Translated into English by Vera Rich in Like Water, Like Fire (1971), p. 110.




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Original content and overall form ©1996-2007 by Peter Kasaty : All Rights Reserved. Last Updated:  2007/06/09
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