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Maximilian Voloshin, Corona Astralis (The Coronal of Sonnets), 1909, transl. August 2017 – March 2018 To Elisaveta Dmitrieva (0) In realms of love – unfaithful comets – It's closed for us, the path of the examined orbits! Reality of our dreams will not be devastated by the Earth – The lights of midnight suns are luring us. Ah, it is not baptized in Lethe’s fordless waters – Our bitter spirit; and yearning comes to us from memory. Inside of us the pain of the beyond-of-this-lifetime offenses is maturing – Exiles, wanderers and poets! For those who see, but being blinded by the daytime light, Who is alive and thrown into the murky tomb, For whom the Earth is sacred realm of ostracism, Who see the dreams and can remember names – To them in love not the delight of the encounters is given, But dusky raptures of the separations! (1) In realms of love – unfaithful comets – Stozhar [1] is blinking through the lofty spheres – The fire masses, the unruly vulcan, The roaming lights of universal storms We’re carrying far away… Let the dark planets See in us the sword of retributions threatening the world – Attired in the cloak of wind and in the flame We are, like Icarus, directing our path toward the Sun. But – being strange – just having touched it, Away we’re setting our running, from the Sun – again into the night, Far on the paths of irreversible parabolas… Our defiant spirit is aspired for the blind rebellion Within the scarlet darkness of the nonsetting sunsets… It's closed for us, the path of the examined orbits! (2) It's closed for us, the path of the examined orbits! The concord of the prayer’s structure is disturbed… While building earthy temples for the earthy gods, The oracle of Earth won’t grant to us the Earth’s communion, The spirit of the vagabonds is by insanity of dreams enlaced. We are like bees who wandered from their swarm away!.. We are the escapees, and our Troy is behind, And glow is making our sail scarlet. Mysteriously lured by breathing of the storms, On scrolls of paths, on crossroads of the roads We’re rushing. Our way is rigorous and strict. And let the thunders rumble dully all-around, Let vortex of the doubts and offenses blow – Reality of our dreams will not be devastated by the Earth! (3) Reality of our dreams will not be devastated by the Earth: In the brocade of beams, the daybreaks silently will melt away, The bicker of the mornings will merge in the chorale of day, The waning crescent moon will smoulder, burn itself away, The grizzle swell of sea will splinter into diamonds The interspersed in water beams of light, But those exposed on Tabor nights Will not be challenged by the near suns in our soul. We are not blinded by the midday ecstasies Of worldly deserts, nor by the fluidal topazes, Nor by the flow of tar, nor by the gold of beams. We wear the silk of moons as our robes, We know the day of the unfading nights – The lights of midnight suns are luring us. (4) The lights of midnight suns are luring us… In the well-shafts of telescopes a prying gaze is drowning. The universes are directing their diamond running: The systems of the stars, the nebulas, the planets, From Alpha of the Dog to Vega and from Beta Of Ursa and till shivery Pleiads – They plough the vastitude of sky, Performing in the dark accomplishments and vows. Oh, dust of worlds! Oh, swarm of holy bees! I’ve traced and measured, weighed and calculated – I gave the names, drew up the maps and computations… But horror of the stars did not die out due to knowledge. We can remember everything: our ancient, dusky spirit – Ah, it is not baptized in Lethe’s fordless waters. (5) Ah, is not baptized in Lethe’s fordless waters By the oblivion of nights – the astral soul inside! It hasn’t sipped from water-holes of Orcs, It hasn’t taken under-earthy vows. The circle isn’t closed. Unfinished is the singing of the spells… When with the sapphire rays for everyone A day is shining and a brook is chatting in the fields – For us, in darkness, sightless lights are roaming, The сane is whispering, the gloom of swamps is blinking, The unavailing wind is braiding – carrying in itself – The autumn swarm of shadows of Persephone, Pilidis grievingly directs his gaze upon the night… But it is even much more sorrowful and more dejected – Our bitter spirit… And yearning comes to us from memory. (6) Our bitter spirit… (and yearning comes to us from memory…) Our bitter spirit sprouted from darkness, like the weeds, It has in it the toxic of the dead, the poison of the graves, In it, the time is sleeping, like in the depths of pyramids. But neither porphyry, nor marble, nor granite Won’t make a more unchanging casing For the disastrous lava spilled in the eternity, The lava that invisibly directs its flow in us. The tombs of Suns! The Urn of perished worlds! The corpse of Moon and Saturn’s deathlike face Will be remembered by the brain and harbored by the heart: A thought was born and got its strength in the breakdowns of the stars, But spirit got fatigue from the blown-down ash, – Inside of us the pain of the beyond-of-this-lifetime offenses is maturing! (7) Inside of us the pain of the beyond-of-this-lifetime offenses is maturing. The sadness brings us longing, we are deafly grinded by a flame, And the unfolded banner of all sorrows Is whispering dejectedly in winds of grief. But let the fire sting and wound us, The singing spirit strangled by the bodies – Laocoon entangled by the knots Of flaming snakes is tensed… and keeping silence. And never – neither bliss of this affliction, Nor pride of bonds, nor joys of lack of freedom, Nor our ecstasy of the relentless prison We won't exchange for all the nepenthes of Lethe! The Grail of sorrows we are carrying through the world – Exiles, wanderers and poets! (8) Exiles, wanderers and poets – Who longed to be, but wasn’t able to become… The birds have nest, the beasts have darkened lairs, The staff alone is there for us and testaments of mendicants. The duty isn’t carried out, commitments are not kept, The path has not been covered, and we are doomed by lot For dreams of all the paths, for doubts of all the roads… The honey’s spilled and singing songs is not completed. To find, to understand oneself in failures of the wills And, humbly loving bitter shame, To drop oneself on earth, to look for water in a desert, To go to others' tents to seek one’s own bread, To turn into resemblance of a wandering rhapsode – For those who see, but being blinded by the daytime light. (9) For those who see, but being blinded by the daytime light – The voices’ meaning, sound of the words, the links of the events, The bodies’ odors and the rustle of the plants – The secret order of the tangles, junctures, ties Is in the dark revealed, since Phoebus, giver of the light, Grants to the blind the intimate insights. The God is hidden in the manger. The cave of the seclusion Is turned into the Cavern of Nativity. Foremother night who nourishes in her dark womb The fetus given by the stingy Father back to her Is bringing her donatives to the chosen one Who by the angered Sun was casted into darkness, Who turned to be the blind plaything of lots, Who is alive and thrown into the murky tomb. (10) Who is alive and thrown into the murky tomb, He sees the edges of the ornamented crypt: The boat of Sun, the faces of the under-earthy gods, Arrayal of the earth: the fields with maize and bread, The oxen go, the sickle reaps, the flail beats the spikes of wheat, The float-boats on the river, a beast is sleeping, birds are building nests, In such a way, he’s seeing from the folds of epitaphion, Both changing of the days and course of people’s lots. Without joy, or tears, or regret, He’s tracking vain excitement of men, Without dusky thoughts, not questioning “Why so?” – Beyond existence, will, desire, He has partaken of the peace unknown to one For whom the Earth is sacred realm of ostracism. (11) For whom the Earth is sacred realm of ostracism, He won’t be entertained by the expanse of fields, But every step, but every moment hides Reminders of the other worlds. Obscure glimmerings appear in his soul, As if on stones of ancient slabs He tried to read a holy alphabet And has forgotten outlines of concepts. He is a vagabond on worldly roads’ dust, Backslider-priest, a self-forgotten god, Observing the familiar patterns in the things. He is the one who doesn't know the perish, Who, having faced the death, looks down in embarrassment, Who sees the dreams and can remember names. (12) Who see the dreams and can remember names, Who hear the intermittent speeches of the grasses, To whom the forerunners of the coming days are clear, For whom the spoony wave is singing; The ones whose soul is whitened by the earth, Who burdened thoughts on their shoulders, like a cloak, Who lightened up the mystic candles, Who was attracted by the shroud of Isis, Who didn’t go to seek the worldly oblectation In dances of the pythonesses nor in the orgies of menads, Who didn’t crush the grapes in cup of bliss, Who, like Orpheus, having broken all the barriers, Still wasn’t able to exterminate the dearest shadow from the depth – To them in love not the delight of the encounters is given. (13) To them in love not the delight of the encounters is given – To ones who was expecting from the passion not the sugary oblivion, Who haven’t learned appeasement from the bodies’ tenderness, Who haven’t drunk the deathful wine. He has a dread of taking on his shoulders The yoke of hopes and heavy load of deeds, He doesn’t want the bonds and rips the lively links apart That we are bound with by Moon. His grief, forever lonely, Deserted and extensive, like ripples of the sea, – He won’t give away. The one who thirsted for the vinegar [2] Though in the moment of the last distress Will choose not peaceful path of bliss, But dusky raptures of the separations. (14) But dusky raptures of the separations, But ashes of the dreams and pains of the encounters – for us. We aren’t the ones to step on bluish moonlit linens, We aren’t the ones who keep the bashful silence. To everyone we whisper the unneeded declarations, From dear hands, we run to the deceptive dreams, We can’t see faces and believe in names, Tormented on the paths of fruitless wander. From every side, they stare at us from darkness – The pupils of the alien, at any time antipathetic eyes. Not heated neither by shining of the stars, nor by sun, Directing our path in the expanses of eternal darkness, In ourselves we carry our own exile – In realms of love – unfaithful comets! ============================= [1] Stozhar refers either to Pleiades or to Pleiades together with Taurus, Ursa Major and Ursa Minor including the Pole Star. [2] The Russian word particularly refers to the vinegar given to Jesus on the cross. ============================= Русский: https://ru.wikisource.org/wiki/Corona_astralis_(Волошин)