Samuil Marshak
(1887-1964)
d
Мать
Увидев каплю крови алой
На пальце у ребенка, мать
Жалела, дула, целовала.
— Пройдет! Не надо горевать.
Теперь окрашен нашей кровью
Уже не палец, а висок,
И не подушка в изголовье,
А твердый камень и песок.
Закрыл глаза нам сон глубокий
В походе — на путях войны.
Нам только ветер гладит щеки,
С родной примчавшись стороны.
И хорошо, что на чужбину
К нам не придет старуха-мать…
Ах, чем теперь помочь ей сыну?
Поднять?
Подуть? Поцеловать?
d
Literary Translation/Adaptation
by U.R. Bowie
Mother
A drop of blood the mother spied
On child’s finger, scarlet weal.
She blew upon it, kissed it, cried:
“No matter, dear, it soon will heal.”
But now the gore, blood-stains cerise
Besmirch our bodies, war-stressed, savaged.
Beneath our heads no pillow, sheets,
We sleep on rocks in meadows ravaged.
We’re far from homeland, live by plunder,
We slog through battle, senses dimmed,
We dream exhaustion’s deepest slumber,
Our cheeks caressed by naught but wind.
In strange and nightmare realm what good,
Would dear consoling mama be,
If she came here, to the inconceivable?
Her hell-bound son how could she free?
Would she pick him up out of the mud?
Would she blow on, kiss the irremediable?
d
Translator’s Note
Marshak wrote this poem with reference to WW II, or what
they call in Russia The Great Patriotic War. Here he expresses, however, none
of the patriotic glory so common in Russian poetry about that war. Rather, he
dwells on the nightmare world of any soldier fighting in a war.
Today the Russian soldier is engaged in quite a different
war, not a defense of the homeland but a war of aggression that brings shame
and opprobrium down on the whole country. I have changed a few details by way
of bringing the poem up to date, most notably the reference to “living by
plunder.”
Graffiti Left by Russian Soldiers on Wall in Ukraine: "No matter what we do, we'll never get out of this life alive."
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