Gethsemane
By Boris Pasternak
Translated by A.Z. Foreman
The distant stars indifferently glimmered,
illumining the winding of the Road.
Out past a turn there stood the Mount of Olives.
Down at its foot the river Kedron flowed.
The meadow broke off halfway from the end.
Reaching beyond, the Milky Way was there.
The silver-ashen olive trees were bent
on marching to the distance through that air.
Up at the end rose someone's garden plot.
He spoke to His desciples silently:
"My soul is sorrowed, even unto death.
Tarry ye here, O friends, and watch with Me"
He had shown no resistance in renouncing,
— as borrowed things left merely in his trust —
omnipotence and powers of wonderwork.
illumining the winding of the Road.
Out past a turn there stood the Mount of Olives.
Down at its foot the river Kedron flowed.
The meadow broke off halfway from the end.
Reaching beyond, the Milky Way was there.
The silver-ashen olive trees were bent
on marching to the distance through that air.
Up at the end rose someone's garden plot.
He spoke to His desciples silently:
"My soul is sorrowed, even unto death.
Tarry ye here, O friends, and watch with Me"
He had shown no resistance in renouncing,
— as borrowed things left merely in his trust —
omnipotence and powers of wonderwork.
He was like other mortals. Now like us.
Horizons of the night appeared the brink
of devastation and the ends of time.
The universe was void of everything
outside that garden. There, life still could climb.
And gazing back up into the black chasm,
the space with neither end nor origin,
his body sweating blood, He prayed His Father
to let this deathcup pass away from Him.
His mortal agony allayed with prayer,
He left the garden. By the road He found
all His disciples had succumbed to slumber,
and lay spread sleeping on the roadside ground.
He woke them: "God has granted you to live
in these My days. Ye sprawl apart as clay.
Behold the hour is struck. The Son of Man
Himself unto the sinners shall betray."
Right as He spoke, a vagrant throng of slaves
appeared as if from sudden nothingness
with sword and torch. Before the mob enraged
came Judas mouthing up the traitor kiss.
Peter unsheathed his blade against the rabble,
smote off a servant's ear with the first blow,
but heard Him say "Lay down thy sword, O Man!
Thou shalt resolve no feud in steel. Let go.
Could not My Father raise the cosmic legions
in wingèd reinforcement where we stand?
Then not a hair of mine would come to harm,
and these my foes be blown apart like sand.
But now the Book of Life has reached a page
more precious than the holy things of men.
The Word which was sent forth must be fulfilled.
So, Father, let Thy will be done. Amen.
For ages like unto a parable
Pass by, and as they pass can burst ablaze
And for that awful majesty I will
Descend in willing torment to the grave
and from the grave upon the third day rise.
And even as the rafts down rivers go,
As caravans of barges through the dark
To me for judgement shall the ages flow."
Horizons of the night appeared the brink
of devastation and the ends of time.
The universe was void of everything
outside that garden. There, life still could climb.
And gazing back up into the black chasm,
the space with neither end nor origin,
his body sweating blood, He prayed His Father
to let this deathcup pass away from Him.
His mortal agony allayed with prayer,
He left the garden. By the road He found
all His disciples had succumbed to slumber,
and lay spread sleeping on the roadside ground.
He woke them: "God has granted you to live
in these My days. Ye sprawl apart as clay.
Behold the hour is struck. The Son of Man
Himself unto the sinners shall betray."
Right as He spoke, a vagrant throng of slaves
appeared as if from sudden nothingness
with sword and torch. Before the mob enraged
came Judas mouthing up the traitor kiss.
Peter unsheathed his blade against the rabble,
smote off a servant's ear with the first blow,
but heard Him say "Lay down thy sword, O Man!
Thou shalt resolve no feud in steel. Let go.
Could not My Father raise the cosmic legions
in wingèd reinforcement where we stand?
Then not a hair of mine would come to harm,
and these my foes be blown apart like sand.
But now the Book of Life has reached a page
more precious than the holy things of men.
The Word which was sent forth must be fulfilled.
So, Father, let Thy will be done. Amen.
For ages like unto a parable
Pass by, and as they pass can burst ablaze
And for that awful majesty I will
Descend in willing torment to the grave
and from the grave upon the third day rise.
And even as the rafts down rivers go,
As caravans of barges through the dark
To me for judgement shall the ages flow."
The Original:
Гефсиманский Сад
Борис Пастернак
Мерцаньем звезд далеких безразлично
Был поворот дороги озарен,
Дорога шла вокруг горы Масличной,
Внизу под нею протекал Кедрон.
Лужайка обрывалась с половины.
За нею начинался Млечный путь.
Седые серебристые маслины
Пытались вдаль по воздуху шагнуть.
В конце был чей-то сад, надел земельный.
Учеников оставив за стеной,
Он им сказал: "Душа скорбит смертельно,
Побудьте здесь и бодрствуйте со мной".
Он отказался без противоборства,
Как от вещей, полученных взаймы,
От всемогущества и чудотворства,
И был теперь, как смертные, как мы.
Ночная даль теперь казалась краем
Уничтоженья и небытия.
Простор вселенной был необитаем,
И только сад был местом для житья.
И, глядя в эти черные провалы,
Пустые, без начала и конца,
Чтоб эта чаща смерти миновала,
В поту кровавом он молил Отца.
Смягчив молитвой смертную истому,
Он вышел за ограду. На земле
Ученики, осиленные дремой,
Валялись в придорожном ковыле.
Он разбудил их: "Вас Господь сподобил
Жить в дни мои, вы ж разлеглись, как пласт
Час сына человеческого пробил.
Он в руки грешников себя предаст..."
И лишь сказал, неведомо откуда
Толпа рабов и скопище бродяг,
Огни, мечи и впереди — Иуда
С предательским лобзаньем на устах.
Петр дал мечом отпор головорезам
И ухо одному из них отсек.
Но слышит: "Спор нельзя решать железом,
Вложи свой меч на место, человек.
Неужто тьмы крылатых легионов
Отец не снарядил бы мне сюда?
И волоска тогда на мне не тронув,
Враги рассеялись бы без следа.
Но книга жизни подошла к странице.
Которая дороже всех святынь.
Сейчас должно написанное сбыться,
Пускай же сбудется оно. Аминь.
Ты видишь, ход веков подобен притче
И может загореться на ходу.
Во имя страшного ее величья
Я в добровольных муках в гроб сойду.
Я– в гроб сойду и в третий день восстану,
И, как сплавляют по реке плоты,
Ко мне на суд, как баржи каравана,
Столетья поплывут из темноты"...
Posts
No comments:
Post a Comment