Ivan Franko "In the Smithy" translated by Ivan Petryshyn

[b][u][b]Ivan  Franko  "In  the  Smithy"  translated  by  Ivan  Petryshyn  [/b][/u]

In  the  valley,  there’s  a  country  side,
 
above  the  village,  the  mist’s  spreading  wide,
 
by  the  village,  on  an  elevation,
 
there  is  a  big  smithy  station.
 
In  that  smithy,  a  blacksmith  is  striking,
 
and  his  heart  is  deeply  a-liking,
 
and  he’s  smithing  singing  in  grace
 
calling  up  the  people  to  his  place.
 
“Come  out,  people,  from  the  huts,  from  the  fields!
 
here’s  the  place,  where  a  better  luck  yields.
 
come  out,  people,  till  it’s  not  late,
 
get  out  from  the  fog,  do  not  wait!”
 
But  the  fogs  are  a-rocking,
 
at  the  village,  they  are  mocking,
 
over  the  fields,  they  are  spreading,
 
blocking  with  darkness  the  people’s  treadding,
 
Every  path  for  them  to  block,
 
not  to  let  them  upwards  from  the  fog,
 
to  the  smithy,  where  they  forge
 
the    weapons,  bright,
 
instead  of  clogs,  fetters  and  ties.
 [/b]
Translated  from  Ukrainian  by  Ivan  Petryshyn

àäðåñà: https://www.poetryclub.com.ua/getpoem.php?id=423497
Ðóáðèêà: ˳ðèêà
äàòà íàäõîäæåííÿ 08.05.2013
àâòîð: ivanpetryshyn