Aleś Dudar

The Tower

The tower sleeps? What is it dreaming?

It rises, gloomy, like a ghost.

A prison here? A belfry seeming?

Who is there that can guess its past?

 

And grizzled time roams round about it,

Like hours' tramp, like a minute sped...

And the long centuries uncounted

Have made of the grey stones a bed.

 

The years built, without work nor effort,

A nest of legends, tales of yore...

And now, today, these men in heavy

Boots tramp the drawbridge-plank once more.

 

They've swathed the tower with forms mysterious;

None will untie the ends once more,

Not mighty Scandinavian heroes,

Nor merchants from the Golden Horn.

 

And to the tower wires now can anchor

Distance so fast the mind must reel...

Foresires, could you but understand the

Truth of antennae of chilled steel.

 

You cannot comprehend, forefathers,

Your tower now has a task renowned,

For from infinity it gathers

Voices into its shining crown.

 

1927

 




Source: Like Water, Like Fire. London, 1971.
Translation: Вера Рыч

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