by Pavlo Tychyna, 1920

dedicated to Hryhorii Savych Skovoroda

Dawn now, but the mist still lingers...
A crease appears in the sky.
-- How sorrow has taken hold of me!

Radiant furrows plow into the clouds.
I hear -- fanfares!
-- How sorrow has taken hold of me...

Those are not fanfares, they're trumpets and guns.
Sleep, do not awake, mother!...

Damn them, a curse on them all who've turned into beasts!
(Instead of sonnets or octaves).

translated from the Ukrainian by Virlana Tkacz & Wanda Phipps

tych1.doc 11/10/90

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