Viacheslav Ivanov
Poetry
What were they whispering in the silence, the soul’s young branches,
offshoots from the ancient tree? Is it the age old story of Eve,
rising naked from the rib of the world’s drowsy first born,
innocent child of the ether, my golden sister?
She goes out splashing with her palms, moving in many-starred beauty,
absorbing all the sounds of universal harmony, making everything silent,
she babbles playfully to the Hesperides: “Throw me the golden ball”,
cries out to the sea nereids: “Come splash in the blue with me”.
Translated by Belinda Cooke
Page(s) 78
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