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“Fairy Tale” by Boris Pasternak 🇷🇺 (10 Feb 1890 – 30 May 1960)
Translated from the Russian by Andrey Kneller
Once upon a time,
Somewhere far away,
Riding through the steppe,
A horseman made his way.
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Through the dust, he saw,
While he sped to fight,
A forest was emerging
Dreary, dark and wide.
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His soul cried out in worry,
And his heart would race:
Tighten up your saddle,
Fear the watering-place.
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But he didn’t listen,
And only gaining speed,
Straight onto the mound
He would lead his steed.
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Turning from the barrow,
To an barren vale,
Past the higher ground,
Straight across the dale.
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Down into the furrow
He took his horse apace
Where the trail led him
To a watering-place.
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Heedless of the warning,
Quick to move, he took
His horse to drink the water
From the hidden brook.
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Near the shallow water,
Where he made his way,
Sulfur flames illumined
The entrance to a cave.
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In the crimson smoke
That shrouded everything,
With a distant calling
The forest seemed to ring
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Straight across the ravine,
Startled and appalled,
The rider walked his horse
To the haunting call.
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As he neared, a dragon
Suddenly appeared.
The rider saw its tail
And tightly gripped his spear.
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The dragon breathed out fire
With a blinding light,
Thrice around a maiden
Winding his spine.
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The body of the dragon,
Bending like a whip,
Held the maiden’s shoulder
With a solid grip.
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A beautiful, young maiden,
By that county’s customs,
Was given to the monster
As a form of ransom.
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The village folk surrendered
This beauty with high hopes
To satisfy the serpent
And to protect their homes.
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The monster squeezed her arms
And coiling her throat,
He left the victim feeling
Hopeless and distraught.
​
The rider, with a prayer,
Gazing at the sky,
Ready for the battle,
Held his spear up high.
​
Eyelids tightly shut.
Summits. Clouded spheres.
Waters. Fords and rivers.
Centuries and years.
​
The wounded rider lies.
His body barely moves.
The loyal horse is trampling
The dragon with its hooves.
​
The dragon’s body’s fallen
By the watering-place.
The rider is a confounded.
The maiden’s in a daze.
​
The midday sky is shinning,
As azure clouds unfurl.
Who is she? A princess?
Or just a peasant girl?
​
Now, in joyous happiness
The soul can’t cease to weep,
And now, unable to resist,
The body falls asleep.
​
Now, his health’s returning
Now, he’s weak once more.
From the loss of blood,
He’s feeling weak and sore.
​
But their hearts are beating.
First one, then the other
Coming back to life
And falling back in slumber.
​
Eyelids tightly shut.
Summits. Clouded spheres.
Waters. Fords and rivers.
Centuries and years.