The Horse's Face - Nikolay Alekseyevich Zabolotsky

Animals don't sleep. In the dark after nightfall

They stand over the world like a stone wall.

The cow's sloping head

Rustles its smooth horns in the straw.

Its stony brow bears down

Dividing ancient cheekbones,

And inarticulate eyes

Look around with effort.

The horse's face is lovelier and wiser.

He hears the speech of leaf and stone.

Watchful, he knows the roar of beasts

And the nightingale's murmur in the decrepit wood.

And, knowing all, whom will he tell

Of his enchanted visions?

The night is deep, and on the dark horizon

Formations of stars rise.

The horse stands like a knight on guard

A wind plays across his fine hairs,

His eyes blaze like two enormous worlds,

His mane spreads like the mantle of a king.

And if a man could see

The horse's magic face,

He would tear out his feeble tongue

And give it to the horse. Indeed

The magic horse deserves a tongue!

Then we would hear words.

Words as big as apples. Thick

As honey or creamy milk.

Words that pierce like flame

And, flying into the soul, like fire into a hut,

Illuminate its beggarly attire.

Words that do not die

And about which we sing songs.

But now the stable is empty,

The trees have also gone away,

A stingy morning has swaddled the hills,

Opened the fields for work.

And the horse in the cage of its traces,

Pulling a covered wagon,

Looks with resigned eyes

At the mysterious, immobile world.

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Nikolay Alekseyevich Zabolotsky (1903-1958) Russia

Translated by Tatiana Tulchinsky, Gwenan Wilbur and Andrew Wachtel

Source: From the Ends to the Beginning