Sunday, September 11, 2016

Poems to the Sun - Konstantin Dmitrievich Balmont

During Autumn, here in the north-woods, many elusive weather-dances are performed. In one day, the morning may begin under cloud-cover; the clouds may burn off till a river of fog flows through the valley, and billows of steam seem to rise from the lakes. Then, later, one might spy a hang-glider floating off the side of the hills, literally plunging into the afternoon sunlight. The next day, the rain might pelt the leaves relentlessly for hours. But, when one ventures out on a late-night walk, the poplar leaves might be singing in the wind, whispering as they fall.

I am savoring the last few weeks of warmth in the garden.




Here is a fragment of a longer Konstantin Balmont poem, in honor of the sun:

Stop, Sun, and listen. I'm here calling,
And in a frenzy of joyful daring
I hold with you a conversation.
It burns like you, my imagination:

In a thirst for lighted meetings
With you, floating on the heights,
Toward your golden likeness
Souls soar in intrepid flight.

-- Konstantin Belmont

Стой, Солнце, и услышь, я здесь к тебе взываю,
И в исступленьи радостном дерзаю
Вести с тобою речь.
Горит как ты моё воображенье,
И в жажде светлых встреч
К тебе высокое паренье
К золотоликому, вперёд,
Души бестрепетный полёт.

a birch leaf, which fell onto a glass plate in the rain 


Which brings to mind another poem of Konstantin Balmont's, The Aroma of the Sun:

The aroma of the sun? What is this farce?
No, it is not a farce.
In the sun are sounds and dreams,
Aromas and colors
All mingling in a chorus,
Interwoven in a single motif.


The sun smells of grasses,
of fresh water-lilies
awakened in spring,
and of resinous pine.

Woven of the pale light,
the lilies of the valley are high
from the triumph of blossoming
in the sharp scent of the earth.


The sun shines in tones,
in the greenness of leaves,
it breathes the singing of birds,
it breathes the laughter of youth.

So, tell it to the blind--
Enough, already!
Do you not see the gates of Eden?
There, the sun has an aroma
Sweetly perceived only by us,
and sensed by the birds and flowers.







Запах солнца? Что за вздор!
Нет, не вздор.
В солнце звуки и мечты,
Ароматы и цветы
Все слились в согласный хор,
Все сплелись в один узор.

Солнце пахнет травами,
Свежими купавами,
Пробуждённою весной,
И смолистою сосной.

Нежно-светлоткаными,
Ландышами пьяными,
Что победно расцвели
В остром запахе земли.

Солнце светит звонами,
Листьями зелёными,
Дышит вешним пеньем птиц,
Дышит смехом юных лиц.

Так и молви всем слепцам:
Будет вам!
Не узреть вам райских врат,
Есть у солнца аромат,
Сладко внятный только нам,
Зримый птицам и цветам!
Konstantin Balmont, by Valentin Sarov

En plein air - in memoriam Andrew Bellon

A dreamless sleep falls from the shimmering leaves. --Sappho fragment, tr. Andrew Bellon I changed, thickened, ...

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