A sail, shown white and lonely, stations
At sea in a bluish hazy band!..
What does it seek in foreign nations?
What has it left in its homeland?..
The wind is high, the waves are playing,
The mast on board both bends and scrapes;
Alas! It’s not for luck its praying,
Nor from its fortune it escapes!
Beneath it sky-blue squirts are foaming,
Above it, aureate rays release...
But it, rebellious, thirsts for storming,
As though a storm might bring forth peace!
Валерий Игнатович, поэтический перевод, 2012
Сертификат Поэзия.ру: серия 862 № 95783 от 26.10.2012
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