I
We live as a commune, we work. Amid the mountains, a monastery.
All around a forest, and before us the river Dnipro itself. It’s sort of
strange – not easy to recognize at once. It continues to slumber, to think, we’ll never cease dreaming. We live as a commune, we work.
At the crack of dawn – with spades we go to the monastery field.
The monks silently pass us and for a long time cross themselves and spit to the right and to the left. A noisy gong calls to breakfast. To greet us
the sun pours out its hymn... We laugh, we have faith, we’re aflame! Only the Dnipro grows all the more somber. He continues to muse, he will never get enough of dreaming.
II
Yellow butterflies are over the cabbage patch, and over the Dnipro.
white ones.
Sails strain their breasts, oars sparkle in the sun, paths glisten behind the skiffs – and only a song carries over the water: “Oh, quack, quack, little geese, to the pond.”
Yellow butterflies are over the cabbage patch, and over the Dnipro.
white ones.
The barges float and carry wood, some of it cut, some still untouched. The hungry city will swallow everything but will freeze anyway.
Then: “at least give something to the worker!” They’re laughing: “we’ll give some to everyone! Here we’ve come for the winter as brigade commanders, so maybe, we’ll put an end to you.”
Oh, no! you won’t see that! No way!
Oh, quack, quack, little geese, to the pond.
III
At night we dream of phalanxes, of farming. And during the day
we stumble on blood. The village is in a frenzy – we had to defend ourselves. We’ve gotten used to the blood a long time ago, though we don’t glorify it in our canon. At night we dream of phalanxes, of farming.
A wounded man: “You took away the peace from us that you’ll
never return. You’ve cast away God and robbed the land – may you be damned!”
We took him, nursed him, taught him to read and write, and opened up a curtain before his eyes. And now he’s ours. He works in the field with us, in the theater he ripens in spirit and knows, that not everyone has red blood. We’ve gotten used to blood a long time ago, although we don’t glorify it in our canon.
IV
We still don’t have enough music. And everyone’s heart is deaf. Each person still has a wife to calls his own. And children don’t want to leave their mothers. Oh, we know, we know, how hard it is to seize the road! Let the meek Christians repent for their sins in caves – we do what we need to do, and the new world – will be ours! Let our would-be “brother”-predator lust after the national wealth, let him incite the cities and entice the villages to follow him – we do what we need to do, and the new world – will be ours! Oh, we know, we know, how hard it is to seize the roads! When will you step out onto the right path, Ukraine? And you, my Dnipro-invalid, will you ever awaken, stubborn one?
V
You’ve turned gray, my Dnipro. Once wide – you’ve now grown narrow. Oh, where is your spirit? Where is your ardor and your strength? You’ve surrounded yourself with bald spots along the shores: I’ll flow, I’ll run along the smooth bottom, I’ll find magic kingdoms. Do you want peace and tranquility? Under whose hand? You’ve turned gray, my Dnipro. Once wide – you’ve now grown narrow.
Above you are storm clouds – armies of storm clouds! A furious wind swings sabers and screams: I’ll hack whoever’s not with us! I’ll chop you in two! And you: to the rapids I flow. Do you want peace and tranquility? Under whose hand? Certainly we already have a hand – it’s strong and magnificent. And the sea waits and peers out. For everyone, for everyone, for everyone...
VI
Do you want me, Dnipro, to read for you? Once upon a time Ukraine raged!.. From border to border, from the Dniester River to the Danube, all the way to the sea and near Starodub – the rabble grabbed the gentry by the hair. (A red – sun – in the boundless – steppes...) Do you want me, Dnipro, to read for you?
And the gentry turned to popes, to kings, and the gentry built themselves a country. Oh, how many arose there! Oh, how many have lain down... Once upon a time Ukraine raged. The Dnipro smiled: you can read on – or not...
A red – sun – in the boundless – steppes.
VII
A gale from the north and south, from the west and east. Where to escape? Where to hide from the wind? Pillars of sand were lifted, in wisps they shimmered from a cliff... Dnipro! the storms are upon us! – Like a bear it rises – it splashes onto the shore with a single paw! the other is beneath the water...
Wake up, old one, wake up, the Rhine, the Volga, and the Dniester
arose long ago, and the people have established a new order on your shores. A gale from the north and south, from the west and east. Come on, everyone let’s join hands, hey, hey!
Pillars of sand rose, in wisps they shimmered from the cliff...
VIII
It dances to its heart’s content somewhere else, but here it’s still concealed. It flashes, it pings along iron rails, and for a long time it glides and hums. (It’s raining...)
If only more, if only more often! Let the whole land pass through a storm! – It dances to its heart’s content somewhere, but here it’s still concealed.
Old men were knocking ashes out of their pipes, and we rake them
into pyramids. – Puff away, mighty one, carry it off, blow it away, so that
they never gather it up again. It flashes, it rumbles through iron, and for a long time it glides and hums.
It’s raining...
IX
Sometimes – he’s like a gentleman. All in blue, with white shores for stockings. “I’m going to a congress, to a congress.” And he pretends that he’s running, and believes that he’s busy and preoccupied. All in blue, with white shores for stockings.
“Oh, have pity on us!” – both sides of the fields shout. “send us fog, for storm clouds are over the rich man’s forests all the time.” “I’m going to a congress, to a congress” – carelessly the Dnipro tosses back to them. “I’ll protect you all, just leave me alone.”
And suddenly— he turns back. He churns the foam on the waves and lies down, as he has lain down for centuries.
Sometimes – he’s like a gentleman.
X
We live as a commune, we work. All around us, a forest, lonely villages and people, wild as sweet-briar. Ah, so much joy, when you love the earth, when you seek harmony in life! For every one of us builds an altar to humanity, everyone is like an apostle. Ah, so much joy, when you love the earth. There are no angels, no God, no seven heavens. There’s only pride and fervor, common work and praise.
Well what of it that blood has flooded the universe? Future generations will arise – the union of bodies and souls.
We do what we do, and the new world – it will be ours!
1920 Mezhhirya