The New Land

attached are some extracts from an English translation of The New Land, the greatest Belarusian epic poem which describes the life of a peasant family in the 1890s, translated by Vera Rich, an English poetress and a friend of mine. I thought you might be interested.

Regards

Alexander Bely

http://www.belarus-misc.org/writer/ykolas.htm#top

Extracts from THE NEW LAND

By Yakub Kolas(11/3/1882 - 8/13/1956)

Translated by Vera Rich

l
THE FOREST-WARDEN'S HOMESTEAD

My native nook, dear land that bred me! ...
I have no power to forget thee!
Often when, from the roadway weary,
From my life's springtime, poor and dreary,
To thee on wings of thought I hasten,
And my poor soul finds rest and grace then.
O how I long, from the beginning
To tread again my road of living,Step by step the whole path trace over,
And from the road those stones to gather,
On which young force and strength were wasted -
Back to that spring I'd wend my paces.

O Spring, O Spring, thou art not for me,
I shall not go, with thee to warm me,
To greet thy coming, joyful, merry,
Thou, Spring, I must forever bury.
For that wave will return here never
Which rolled away on the swiftriver,
But, into vapour oft transmuted,
Cloudward it soars on sunshine plumage,
Then, back as rain, falls to the river,
(For no one can escape, no, never,
The laws which life for him writes valid)
Or lies as mist on dale and valley;
But who is it that thinks to show where
Lies it as water or as snow there?
And thou, like wave upon the river,
Young spring, wilt come back to me never . . .And now, again, before me rises
That nook in all its lovelinesses,
The curving stream-bed of the freshet,
The spruce tree and the pine that ever
Above the stream embrace together,
Like young folk in their love's devotion,
The last eve before separation.
I see the woods around the homestead,
Where once girls gaily, in the gloaming,
Sang their songs in a lovely chorus,
Late from workpassing by the forest

Notes of their fluent songs, far-trilling,
Once again by the woods were mirrored,
And with them all the hills resounded,
Forth in free billows, gladness bounded,
And firs and spruces sempiternal,
Beneath those song-notes, young and vernal,
Stood silent in some meditation,
And in their quiet murmuration
Were born the prayers of evening whispered,
Aloft, high intoholy distance.

About the forest-warden's steading,
Like a lovely horse-shoe spreading,
Old and high, a forest briared,
There the round-leafed aspens' spires,
With firs and oak-trees interlacing,
Spruces their cloudy crosses tracing
High in the heavens clear, mysterious
Words to the pine-trees softly whispered,
And, like widows, ever sadly,
They in loneliness would stand there,
And somournful was the gazing
Of their heads, aye meditating!
Now retreating, now advancing,
The woods the green meadow parted,
Here and there curves lovely wandered,
Round the homestead in fair meanders,
That one must stand there and admire them

By the orchard, in the farmyard,
There a lean-to and a barn stood,
Under the lean-to were gathered
Tools and harness, cart and waggon,
Wheels andaxles, old sledge-runners,
Skeps for bees - quite few in number -
Still unfinished, sundry vessels,
Old tubs, a half-bushel measure,
And all kinds of trash and lumber,
Sheltered from the rain and sun there -
For, of course, it could be needed.
The barn, thatched with straw, had faded
Into grey with long years passing,
Tufts of straw where winds had tossed them
Dangled from it, wild,dishevelled;
Somewhat, too, by boys bedevilled,

On the thatched roof climbing, crawling,
(That, they found, a game enthralling!)
And 'neath the gable, in a cobweb,
An orphan ear of grain was bobbing,
In the stillness, very quietly -
Truly, only God almighty
Knew how long it had kept hold there.
Another building, even older,
With roof warped and rotted dire,
Stood across the yard - a byre,...