This File Last Updated: 2006/08/20


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У Навагодні Вечар

    Наталля Аляксееўна Арсеньнева

    Рвецца,
    рвецца,
    парвалася,
    знікла
    ў хмарах неба вячорная ніць:
    новым вершам я,
    новым іх цыклам,
    пачынаю зімовыя дві.
    Зоры снегу скідаю з расніцаў
    (цалаваць — хай цалуюць у твар).
    Кружа ў думках,
    мігціць,
    мітусіцца
    нейкіх словаў няздзейсменых чар.
    Хай мігцяць...
    Усё роўна збяру я
    іх у верш ці паэму пасля,
    ацяпер...
    размяту па-над руняй
    снегавой...
        Сяння я — не гусляр

    не паэт...
        Па-вясенняму сіне
    уваччу, серабром пад дугой
    заліваецца сэрца, бо гіне
    год стары й новы родзіцца год!
    Можа, будзе да нас ён ласкавы,
    а не гэткі — з слязьмі і крывёй,
    з кажным днём, можа,
    з кажнаю справай
    праўдзівей, праўдзівей зажывём...
    Пералічым крыжы
    і павернем
    забываць,
    будаваць
    і тварыць,
    новай праўды прарошчваць зерне
    на папелішчы праўдаў старых!




New Year's Eve

    by Natalla Arsiennieva

    Breaks,
      it breaks,
        broken,
          vanished entirely
    In the storm-clouds is evening's last thread;
    With a new poem now,
          a new cycle
    I start the days of winter ahead.
    I brush the snow-stars from my lashes
    (Let them kiss, let them kiss the face)
    In my thoughts there wheel
          twinkling
            and flashing.
    Words with unfulfilled wonder and grace.
    Let them flash...
        None the less, I shall gather
    Them in a verse or a poem some day.
    But now...
      on young snow-crops
            I shall scatter
    Those words...
        For I'm no minstrel today.
    Nor poet...
      Spring's blue pours in my eyes now.
    And the silver that shimmers beneath
    Shaft-bows floods my heart. Old Year dies now.
    Perishes, and a New Year is born.
    And maybe it will be prove to be gracious
    More than blood, more than tears have to give.
    With every day, maybe,
          every purpose,
    Better, yes better, we'll live.
    We'll count up the crosses
          - return then,
    To forget,
      to create,
        to build high.
    To sow seeds of new truth to burgeon
    Where the ashes of our old truths lie.





Written: New Year, 1942/43




Return to the Natalla Arsiennieva Web page     Go to the A Belarus Miscellany Topic List           Go to the top of section about Books     Go to the Belarusian Writers Web page

Go to the Belarusian Language Version of this poem on Dz'micier Zinowjew's Belarusian Poetry Web site.

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Original content and overall form ©1996-2006 by Peter Kasaty : All Rights Reserved. Last Updated:  2006/08/20
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