The murmurs ebb; onto the stage I enter.
I am trying, standing in the door,
To discover in the distant echoes
What the coming years may hold in store.
The nocturnal darkness with a thousand
Binoculars is focused onto me.
Take away this cup, O Abba Father,
Everything is possible to Thee.
I am fond of this Thy stubborn project,
And to play my part I am content.
But another drama is in progress,
And, this once, O let me be exempt.
But the plan of action is determined,
And the end irrevocably sealed.
I am alone; all round me drowns in falsehood:
Life is not a walk across a field.
Notes
translated by the poet's sister Lydia Pasternak Slater
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Translator
From guest Helen Arnold (contact)
The translator of this version of the poem is Lydia Pasternak Slater - Pasternak's sister. -
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Thanks for the information. It has been added.
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