To Gnedich poem – Alexander Pushkin

A poem by Alexander Pushkin – Pouchkine, Pooshkin (1799-1837), in English translation

With Homer you conversed alone for days and nights,

Our waiting hours were passing slowly,

And shining you came down from the mysterious heights

And brought to us your tablets holy –

So? in the wilderness, beneath a tent, you found

Us, feasting mad in empty gaiety,

Singing our savage songs and galloping around

Some newly hand-created deity.

We grew confused, aloof from your good rays hid we.

Then, seized of wrath and desolation,

Have you, O prophet, cursed your mindless family And smashed your tablets in frustration?

No, you have cursed us not. From heights you disappear

Into the shade of little valleys;

You love the heavens’ crash, but also wish to hear

Bees humming over red azaleas.

Such is the honest bard. With passion he laments

At solemn fairs of Melpomena –

To smile upon the crowd’s plebeian merriments,

The liberties of coarse arena.

Now Rome is calling him, now majesties of Troy,

Now elder Ossian’s craggy gravels –

And in the meantime he will hear with childish joy

Of Czar Sultan’s heroic travels.

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Poems in English 

• Arrival by William Carlos Williams by William Carlos Williams
• April Is The Saddest Month by William Carlos Williams by William Carlos Williams
• Après le Bain by William Carlos Williams by William Carlos Williams
• Approach Of Winter by William Carlos Williams by William Carlos Williams
• A Sort Of A Song by William Carlos Williams by William Carlos Williams
• A Goodnight by William Carlos Williams by William Carlos Williams
• A Celebration by William Carlos Williams by William Carlos Williams
• Women And Roses by Robert Browning by Anglo File
• Venus, on a fur by Witty Fay by Anglo File
• Ultima Thule by William Ellery Leonard by Anglo File
• To the Victor by William Ellery Leonard by Anglo File
• The Image Of Delight by William Ellery Leonard by Anglo File
• The First Part: Sonnet 5 – How that vast heaven intitled First is roll’d, by William Drummond by Anglo File
• The First Part: Sonnet 4 – Fair is my yoke, though grievous be my pains, by William Drummond by Anglo File
• The First Part: Sonnet 3 – Ye who so curiously do paint your thoughts, by William Drummond by Anglo File
• The First Part: Sonnet 2 – I know that all beneath the moon decays by William Drummond by Anglo File
• The First Part: Sonnet 14 – Nor Arne, nor Mincius, nor stately Tiber, by William Drummond by Anglo File
• The First Part: Sonnet 13 – O sacred blush, impurpling cheeks’ pure skies by William Drummond by Anglo File
• The First Part: Sonnet 12 – Ah! burning thoughts, now let me take some rest, by William Drummond by Anglo File
• The First Part: Sonnet 11 – Lamp of heaven’s crystal hall that brings the hours, by William Drummond by Anglo File

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