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Irina Ratushinskaya


retriever From our souls and correspondent Brighton, Daniel Yanez Gonzalez-Irun comes this post with translations some of the poems of Russian poet Irina Ratushinskaya born in 1954 who was sentenced in 1983 to 7 years imprisonment in a concentration camp in Mordovia and five of confinement. His mistake, criticizing the Soviet regime. Suffered torture and was released in 1986 with the help and involvement of Gorbachev and Reagan after reading a copy of these poems Letter to pencil., Poems, mostly memorized, with matches first wrote them and used soap bars.

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I will travel within the territory
(a Taby and Vabnya)
..
I will travel through the territory -
with my retinue of guards,
I will study the look of human suffering,
I'll see what no one has never seen before -
But I will be able to describe it?
'll cry if I get it "-
walking in my game on water?
How we are alike and our husbands -
Our eyes, forehead, tip of the mouth.
What are identical - to the last vein of the skin -
To them, who left for so Time of our lives,
To them, those who write now: "Never mind,
You and I are one and the same person,
And others will never get separated!"
And as forged on earth,
"Forever" seems to be the only answer -
Two ancient words
hiding behind him all the light.
Although painfully drag me to the convoy,
I remember absolutely everything -
His heart! - And do not tear it succeed! -
Every breath we take - Every breath
outside the law!
And that for which we live -
for tomorrow.
.
Small Area (area of \u200b\u200bthe field where the prisoners of conscience reside), 11/12/1983.



Before the Battle
.
Before the battle,
Some stallions grow clover in the field.
commanders
They take their compass and measure - the wasteland that less care!
still be filled
rain and blood lead, the footprints of small animals.
Sunrise -
Thunder, and Pale Rider reveals his appearance.
Before the battle,
inexperienced soldiers heard the boasts of the veterans.
Its officers
write letters, and later someone will be playing the guitar.
Towards evening
silent grass and smell of honey and pollen.
Comes the morning -
Thunder, and if there will be letters of the fallen.
.
Shiz, December 1984