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'O sing, fair lady, when with me
Sad songs of Georgia no more.'
Pushkin
Tonight, David, there came to me
lines loved by others but now lost.
Trembling with emotion, seized by the eloquence of silence,
I read again those poets whose names are forever forgotten,
those humble ancient troubadours whose immortal songs
the people still sing!
Their anonymous souls have found immortality
in discreet sighs and shining tears!
They still live and breathe, David,
in the passionate clarity of their song,
and the air that burns with it!
A robin passes by and our weary lives
suddenly contain the essence of everything!
Could words torn from living flesh and
lines woven by the light of heated blood really die?
No, pale oblivion can do nothing
against the eternal outpourings of
those who remember beings and things with love!
They're still alive, my friend, waiting
for another penetrating mind
to make them present and accept their grace!
That's when a feeling of rightness, an imperceptible warmth
suddenly invades our attentive
and transparent hearts!
And, full of wonder, we're suddenly aware of
the pulse of their blood surfacing in our souls,
beating against our transfigured hearts
and pouring into us waves of harmony and grace!
Tonight, David, there came to me
lines loved by others
but now lost!
translated from the French of Athanase Vantchev de Thracy
by Norton Hodges
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