Sunday, April 10, 2016

Sergei Yesenin - At Sunset

At sunset the crimson light weaves across the lake,
In the grove wood grouses cry with a strident clang.

Out an oriole laments, holed up in a tree.
I alone don’t feel like crying, filled with joyful glee.

You would slip away to me in the evening dusk,
We would sit in fresh cut hay under finished stacks. 

Like a bloom I’d rumple you, kiss till headiness,
You cannot reproach a man drunk from happiness. 

You would toss the silky veil, dazed from my delight,
And I’d whisk you to the bush till the dawning light. 

Even though the grouses sound woebegone,
There’s a joyous dolor in the crimson dawn.


Translated by Dina Belyayeva


  1. Replies
    1. Thank you, Jack. Yesenin was only 15 when he wrote this poem. In Russian it sounds particularly lyrical and unbelievably mature for a teenager.