A keresés eredménye

This Earth holds not uninteresting people

This Earth holds not uninteresting souls.
Their fates akin planets history -
Each planet is unique on its own,
And no other bears semblance to its mystery.
 
And should someone unheeded thus lived -
With his obscurity amicable seemed -
Amongst the people, he stood out, surround
in his imperceptibility shroud.
 
Each one is engrossed in their own secret world.
This world has the best of moments gold,
This world has the worst hour still to pass,
But all of this is yet unknown to us.
 
And should this person happen to die,
Then his first snow, long gone, would now him belie -
His first kiss, as well as his first battle -
Going away, all of this he'll settle.
 
Yes, there will remain books and bridges,
And artists canvases, and widgets,
Yes, much is fated to remain,
But something anyhow will be lost in vain!
 
Thus, is the rule of a ruthless game -
Not people die, but worlds cease all the same.
We remember people, sinful and mundane,
But what did we know of them, again?
 
What do we know of brothers or friends?
What do we know of our chosen ones in the end?
And our father, mother - those whose names we call,
Knowing all, we do not know anything at all.
 
People leave… There isn’t a way to bring them back.
Their secret worlds won’t be revived, alack.
And each time I want to scream against
This irreversible and irretrievable event.
 

BABI YAR

Versions: #1
No monument stands over Babi Yar.
A steep cliff only, like the rudest headstone.
I am afraid.
Today, I am as old
As the entire Jewish race itself.
I see myself an ancient Israelite.
I wander o’er the roads of ancient Egypt
And here, upon the cross, I perish, tortured
And even now, I bear the marks of nails.
It seems to me that Dreyfus is myself.*1*
The Philistines betrayed me – and now judge.
I’m in a cage. Surrounded and trapped,
I’m persecuted, spat on, slandered, and
The dainty dollies in their Brussels frills
Squeal, as they stab umbrellas at my face.
I see myself a boy in Belostok*2*
Blood spills, and runs upon the floors,
The chiefs of bar and pub rage unimpeded
And reek of vodka and of onion, half and half.
I’m thrown back by a boot, I have no strength left,
In vain I beg the rabble of pogrom,
To jeers of Kill the Jews, and save our Russia!
My mother’s being beaten by a clerk.
O, Russia of my heart, I know that you
Are international, by inner nature.
But often those whose hands are steeped in filth
Abused your purest name, in name of hatred.
I know the kindness of my native land.
How vile, that without the slightest quiver
The antisemites have proclaimed themselves
The Union of the Russian People!
It seems to me that I am Anna Frank,
Transparent, as the thinnest branch in April,
And I’m in love, and have no need of phrases,
But only that we gaze into each other’s eyes.
How little one can see, or even sense!
Leaves are forbidden, so is sky,
But much is still allowed – very gently
In darkened rooms each other to embrace.
-They come!
-No, fear not – those are sounds
Of spring itself. She’s coming soon.
Quickly, your lips!
-They break the door!
-No, river ice is breaking…
Wild grasses rustle over Babi Yar,
The trees look sternly, as if passing judgement.
Here, silently, all screams, and, hat in hand,
I feel my hair changing shade to gray.
And I myself, like one long soundless scream
Above the thousands of thousands interred,
I’m every old man executed here,
As I am every child murdered here.
No fiber of my body will forget this.
May Internationale thunder and ring*3*
When, for all time, is buried and forgotten
The last of antisemites on this earth.
There is no Jewish blood that’s blood of mine,
But, hated with a passion that’s corrosive
Am I by antisemites like a Jew.
And that is why I call myself a Russian!