The Film of God by R.S. Thomas

Sound, too? The recorder
that picks up everything picked
up nothing but the natural
background. What language
does the god speak? And the camera's  
lens, as sensitive to
an absence as to a presence,
saw what? What is the colour
of his thought?
               It was blank, then,
the screen, as far as he
was concerned? It was a bare
landscape and harsh, and geological
its time. But the rock was
bright, the illuminated manuscript
of the lichen. And a shadow,
as we watched, fell, as though
of an unseen writer bending over
his work.
         It was not cloud
because it was not cold,
and dark only from the candlepower
behind it. And we waited
for it to move, silently
as the spool turned, waited
for the figure that cast it
to come into view for us to
identify it, and it
didn't and we are still waiting.
 
 
 By R.S. Thomas
 from Frequencies (1978) 

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Плачущий Сад (Weeping Garden) by Boris Pasternak

 Dreadful! It drips and it listens -
 whether it's all alone in the world
 crushing a twig like lace at the window,
 or is someone watching?
 
 Palpable, though, is the pressure
 of porous earth's taut swellings,
 and far off, audible as in August,
 midnight ripens in fields.
 
 No, no sound, no witness,
 Convincing there's no one there,
 back it goes to its game of rolling
 down roofs and across gutters.
 
 I'll lift it up to my lips and listen -
 whether I'm all alone in the world,
 ready to burst out in sobs if I need to,
 or is someone watching?
 
 Silence. Not a leaf moving.
 No dot of light, just weird
 gulps and splashings about in slippers,
 the lulls full of sighs and tears.
 
 
 By  Бори́с Леони́дович Пастерна́к (Boris Leonidovich Pasternak)
 (1917)
 translated by Angela Livingstone 

A recital of the poem in Russian:

Below is the poem in it’s original Russian cyrillic form:

 
Ужасный! — Капнет и вслушается,
Все он ли один на свете
Мнет ветку в окне, как кружевце,
Или есть свидетель.

Но давится внятно от тягости
Отеков — земля ноздревая,
И слышно: далеко, как в августе,
Полуночь в полях назревает.

Ни звука. И нет соглядатаев.
В пустынности удостоверясь,
Берется за старое — скатывается
По кровле, за желоб и через.

К губам поднесу и прислушаюсь,
Все я ли один на свете, —
Готовый навзрыд при случае, —
Или есть свидетель.

Но тишь. И листок не шелохнется.
Ни признака зги, кроме жутких
Глотков и плескания в шлепанцах
И вздохов и слез в промежутке. 

Ангел (The Angel) [Extract] by Mikhail Lermontov

And with a strange desire all her days
she walked her worldly ways;
for dull the melodies of earth she found
after that heavenly sound.


by Михаил Юрьевич Лермонтов (Mikhail Yuryevich Lermontov)
translated by Frances Cornford

Interesting extra: The poem this extract is from was written by Lermontov when he was seventeen years old. Typical of his early romanticism its subject is a soul unable to forget the songs of the angel who first carried her down to earth to be incarnated.

On a sidenote: The past day or two I’ve been using WordPress’ new ‘blocks’ system and putting this in the ‘verse’ version. Does it make any difference? The entire system just feels like it complicates matters needlessly.

‘Loving, I am still dumbfounded’ by Afanasy Fet

Loving, I am still dumbfounded

by the world and its beauty,

and nothing will make me renounce

the sweetness you grant me.

However hard my breath come,

while I stand here on earth

the sound of new life will be welcome

wherever it stirs.

Submissive to the sun’s rays,

roots go down into the grave

to seek from death the strength

to meet spring days.

 

by Афанасий Афанасьевич Фет (Afanasy Afanasyevich Fet)

a.k.a. Шеншин (Shenshin)

(1890)

translated by Robert Chandler

‘Cautious, Toneless Sound’ by Osip Mandelstam

Cautious, toneless sound

of fruit from a tree

to the constant

melody of forest silence…

 

by Осип Эмильевич Мандельштам (Osip Emilyevich Mandelshtam. His surname is commonly latinised as Mandelstam)

(1908)

translated by John Riley