by Pavlo Tychyna, 1920

I sleep - I stir. I fulfill a will. Fill.

Roosters (in the window) and a flood of green beer (through the window) --
all ring with O.

-- "I don't understand. "Marcel Etienne! Marcel Etienne!" they shouted
with banners. And now they rot in the ground. You say -- so will I?"

Through life resounds a legato (a factory whistle). Enough! Resonate over
my fate. Lullaby... lull
Only a bird in the window: triolet, triolet!

-- "And what about beauty? And immortality? -- I remember
(isn't it funny): with you forever! - she swore. --
It's obvious: people are enharmonic only in spirit. Because all tragedies and
dramas -- are finally consonances.

-- "Get up! - a new government has taken the town!"

I open my eyes ("consonances").

On the wall the thick-framed window has been cast by the sun as a musical
sharp sign on fire...

In those days, when on the boundless waters grazed herds of winds; --

In those days, when the mountains shook, the earth cracked,
and over the grass, sharp as swords, crawled all types of monsters --

-- And the clouds, the clouds played in the sun without a care.
Child-like, subtle, delicate shapes! Who needed them?

The savage, stuffed with raw meat, tracked them for a long time
with his uncomprehending eyes, and then unconsciously smelled a flower,
similar to a thistle.

translated from the Ukrainian by Virlana Tkacz & Wanda Phipps

tych4.doc 10/10/90

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