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"Па-над белым пухам вішняў. . ."

Максім Багдановіч

De la musique avant toute chose.

P. Verlaine


    Па-над белым пухам вішняў,
    Быццам сіні аганёк,
    Б'ецца, ўецца шпаркі, лёгкі
    Сінякрылы матылёк.

    Навакол усё паветра
    Ў струнах сонца залатых, —
    Ён дрыжачымі крыламі
    Звоніць ледзьве чутна ў іх.

    I ліецца хваляй песня, —
    Ціхі, ясны гімн вясне.
    Ці не сэрца напявае,
    Навявае яго мне?

    Ці не вецер гэта звонкі
    Ў тонкіх зёлках шапаціць?
    Або мо сухі, высокі
    Ля ракі чарот шуміць?

    Не паняць таго ніколі,
    Не разведаць, не спазнаць:
    Не даюць мне думаць зыкі,
    Што ляцяць, дрыжаць, звіняць.

    Песня рвецца і ліецца
    На раздольны, вольны свет.
    Але хто яе пачуе?
    Можа, толькі сам паэт.


    "Above the white down of the cherries. . ."

    by Maksim Bahdanovich

    De la musique avant toute chose.     [Of music before any thing.]

    P. Verlaine        


    Above the white down of the cherries,
    Like blue fire, soaring high,
    Cleaving, weaving pathways, light and
    Swift — a blue-winged butterfly.

    All around the air is trembling
    With the sun in golden strings,
    And almost too quiet for hearing
    It strums them with trembling wings.

    And in waves the song is pouring,
    Gentle gleaming paean to spring.
    Is it not my heart that carols?
    Is it not my heart that sings?

    Is it not a bell-voiced zephyr,
    Whispering in the thin plants, hides?
    Or perhaps the tall dry rushes
    Rustling at the waterside?

    Not for us to understand it,
    Nor discover it, nor learn:
    The notes flying, quivering, ringing,
    Let me not to thinking turn.

    Song bursts forth and gushes into
    The great world, unfettered, free.
    But who is it that will hear it?
    The poet alone, maybe.





Notes:




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

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