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“Gethsemane” by Boris Pasternak 🇷🇺 (10 Feb 189030 May 1960)
Translated from the Russian by Andrey Kneller
The distant stars were shining overhead.
Their light was cast upon the curving road.
The road was laid around Mount Olivet.
The Kedron brook was flowing down below.
The meadow was cut off right in the middle
And there, the Milky Way came into sight.
The grayish olives in their silver glitter
Would try to climb the sky into the night.
There was a garden. Slowly, He approached
And leaving His disciples by the wall,
He said to them, “Wait here for Me. Keep watch.
I sense a fatal torment in My soul.”
He turned away without exasperation,
As though from what was borrowed in the past,
From both, supremacy and domination,
And now, He was a mortal, just like us.
The widespread darkness now appeared to beckon
Into oblivion, into the barren space.
The vastness of the universe was vacant,
The Garden was the only living place.
And looking at these chasms in the sky,
So empty, limitless, He felt a sudden dread.
So that the cup of death would pass Him by
He begged His Father, wet with blood and sweat.
With prayer softening the deadly languor,
He slowly headed back and saw, appalled,
As His disciples, with exhaustion anchored,
Were sleeping on the grass beside the wall.
He woke them up in rage: “Almighty deemed
You worthy of My presence,—you offend Him.
The hour of the Son of Man is here.
Into the hands of sinners, He’ll surrender.”
Just as He said this, out of nowhere, stormed
A mob of slaves, and wanderers assembled.
Lights, swords and Judas walking to the front,—
A traitor’s kiss upon his lips still trembled.
And Peter gripped his heavy sword. Unsettled,
He cut off someone’s ear in the discord.
He hears: “This clash can’t be resolved with metal!
Good man, I say to you, put down your sword.
Oh, do you think My Father wouldn’t send
The winged legion to protect Me here?
They’d never touch a hair upon My head,—
Without a trace, My foes would disappear.
Know that the book of life has reached that page,
More valuable than all the blessings sent.
What’s written in the book cannot be changed,
Then let it all come true, I say. Amen.
You see, My time has reached the final hour.
Continuing, it may alight in gloom.
Thus, in the name of His majestic power,
Accepting agony, I’ll step into the tomb.
I’ll step into the tomb soon overburdened,
And on the third day, I’ll ascent. into my sight,
As though in a procession for my verdict,
The centuries will flow out of the night…”