Гимн (A Hymn) by Nikolay Nekrasov

Lord, give them freedom who are weak,

and sanctify the people’s ways,

grant them their justice which they seek,

and bless their labouring days.

 

May freedom, but a seed at first,

untrammelled rise to flower and spread.

For knowledge let the people thirst,

and light the path ahead.

 

Lord, set your chosen followers free,

release them from their ancient bands,

entrust the flag of liberty

at last, to Russian hands.

 

by Николай Алексеевич Некрасов (Nikolay Alexeyevich Nekrasov)

(1866)

translated by Frances Cornford and Esther Polianowsky Salaman


Recital in the original Russian:

Original Russian Cyrillic text:

Господь! твори добро народу!
Благослови народный труд,
Упрочь народную свободу,
Упрочь народу правый суд!

Чтобы благие начинанья
Могли свободно возрасти,
разлей в народе жажду знанья
И к знанью укажи пути!

И от ярма порабощенья
Твоих избранников спаси,
Которым знамя просвещенья,
Господь! ты вверишь на Руси…

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H’m by R. S. Thomas

and one said

speak to us of love

and the preacher opened

his mouth and the word God

fell out so they tried

again speak to us

of God then but the preacher

was silent reaching

his arms out but the little

children the ones with

big bellies and bow

legs that were like

a razor shell

were too weak to come

 

by R. S. Thomas

from H’m (1972)

Words Lying Empty, Without Breathing by Maria Petrovykh

Words lying empty, without breathing –

that don’t know why they exist at all.

Words with no goal, words with no meaning,

that shelter no one from the cold

and haven’t fed a single soul.

Words of impotence – of the weak!

Words that don’t dare, too shy to speak.

They give no heat, they shed no light,

but, with an orphan’s grief, go mute,

not knowing they are mutilated.

 

by Мария Сергеевна Петровых (Maria Sergeyevna Petrovykh)

(1970s)

translated by Boris Dralyuk

Snow Keeps Falling Night And Day by Varlam Shalamov

Snow keeps falling night and day –

some god, now turned more strict,

is sweeping out from his domain

scraps of his old manuscripts.

 

Sheaves of ballads, songs and odes,

all that now seems bland or weak –

he sweeps it down from his high clouds,

caught up now by newer work.

 

by Варлам Тихонович Шаламов (Varlam Tikhonovich Shalamov)

(1950 – or at least the incident which inspired the poem occurred then)

translated by Robert Chandler