by Volodymyr Svidzinsky, 1932

The pendulum's tired.
Day, night,
Summer, winter --
Rock, rock that fat silence!
The pendulum wheezes like the wounded.

But why didn't I hear these groans,
When my love was by my side?
At times she would lie down
And then I would read her a story.

Day, night
Summer, winter,
Time doesn't stand still.
The books we read have yellowed,
Their corners turn black with mildew,
The spider attempts to ensnare these old things in his web --
But can't.
Day, night --
Every moment is counted.
The pendulum grows hoarse.

translated from the Ukrainian by Virlana Tkacz and Wanda Phipps

svd2.doc 6/11/91

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