untitled (I cross the edge) - Vasyl Stus

I cross the edge. Outside the rim I go.

This foot that I have raised to march ahead,

Reality, this naked empty hollow,

This water, salty like a sea that’s dead,

And this despair of the first beginning,

You terrify me! I must soon forget

This land of doubt not a mem’ry leaving

Of fire or ashes. I will cross the edge.

Like leopards, who through rings of burning medley

Transport their frightened souls’ sudden drift,

Aim for grim reaper’s eye, however deadly,

Be born in death, and don’t you dare to shift

Your old despondency. Begin much farther,

Behind the barrow, there on the ring,

When sacred tablets gleam for you not others,

But don’t you dare tell a living thing.

Where humans float, and inch by inch unhindered

A proud continent is growing in the sea,

Eternity’s old mirror turned to timber,

Like words of truth or a prophetic scream.

Do cross the edge. Upon your death, commencement

Is waiting for you. Vigorously strive

To walk the path, bright like a bloody knife,

Demanding spirits honest and repentant,

Who live like that, expecting their end

Like a beginning, moving strictly upward

When hardship spreads its wings in search for martyrs

Germs of eternity revolving in its hands.

18.IV.1972

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Vasyl Stus (1938 - 1985) Ukraine

Translated by Artem Pulemotov

Used by permission of the translator