INSTEAD OF SONNETS OR OCTAVES
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.