so far away.
On horse, on foot?
Hard to say…
on a swift steed…
O far-flung friend,
by Афанасий Афанасьевич Фет (Afanasy Afanasyevich Fet)
a.k.a. Шеншин (Shenshin)
translated by Robert Chandler
I’m going to including this song for no clear reason…
It has nothing to do with the poem but it came to mind while reading it…
My talent is pitiful, my voice not loud,
but I am living; somewhere in the world
someone looks kindly on my life; far off
a distant fellow-man will read my words
and find my being; and, who knows, my soul
will raise an echo in his soul, and I
who found a friend in my own time,
will find a reader in posterity.
by Евгений Абрамович Баратынский (Yevgeny Abramovich Baratynsky)
translated by Peter France
There is a frontier-line in human closeness
That love and passion cannot violate –
Though in silence mouth to mouth be soldered
And passionate devotion cleave the heart.
Here friendship, too, is powerless, and years
Of that sublime and fiery happiness
When the free soul has broken clear
From the slow languor of voluptuousness.
Those striving towards it are demented, and
If the line seem close enough to broach –
Stricken with sadness… Now you understand
Why my heart does not beat beneath your touch.
– by Анна Ахматова (Anna Akhmatova) (May 1915, St Petersburg)
– from Белая стая (White Flock, 1917) translation by D. M. Thomas