Snakes

The Snakes

Nikolay Zabolotsky

Translated by Misha Semenov

Revision 27 Feb, 2012

The chilly woods sway to and fro,

Here too, are many flowers,

And intwined among the rocks

Lay curled the shining bodies of vipers.

The sun, so hot, so stark,

Pours out its warmth on them.

Their bodies settled amid the rocks,

The snakes are smooth, like glass.

So what if birds sound overhead

Or beetles boldly howl by?

The snakes still sleep, hiding their faces

Deep in the folds of roasting bodies.

At once mysterious and poor,

They sleep, their mouths agape,

While up above, barely perceptible,

Time floats through the air.

One year passes, two years pass, three

years pass, and then, at last,

A man stumbles upon those bodies—

A grave case study of sleep[1]:

What are they there for? Where did they come from?

How to explain them best with reason, with the mind?

But the pile of glorious creatures

Sleeps on, scattered everywhere.

And the wise man will leave, pensive,

Go on his way, live like a hermit,

And in a flash so bored by Nature,

Now watch it raise a prison over him.

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