…from the quills of the dead white poets

Aleksander Pushkin (1799 – 1837)



Again clouds of the mute heavens
Came together o’er my head;
And again the karma, envious, 
Threatens me with future’s bad…
Should I scorn all fate’s intentions?
Should I bear her against
The great stubbornness and patience
Of my proud youthful years?

By my stormy living tired, 
I, indifferent, wait for storms:
Maybe, I’d, once more saved out,
Find a harbor in my roams.
But divining separation –
That appalling, fateful trice –
I squeeze your hand with such passion
As if this time were the last.

Merciful and peaceful angel,
Softly tell me ‘fare you well’,
Just be sad: let your look, gentle,
Gently rise or gently fell;
And this charming recollection,
In my heart, will hold a place
Of the strengths, pride, expectations
And imprudence of young years.

Translated by Yevgeny Bonver, October 6, 2004

About Paul Jacko

Jacko was born in Czechoslovakia not long before the communist putsch in February 1948. He studied industrial chemistry there and left in 1969 for Australia, where he became a lawyer and established his own practice. He has now retired and beside hunting, fishing, camping, prospecting and playing golf he amuses himself by writing.
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